


Live and learn from fools and sages

by erksy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Police, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erksy/pseuds/erksy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles Stilinski graduated from the Beacon City Police Academy, he was expecting a lot of things from his new career path. Being assigned Derek Hale as his partner wasn't one of them.</p><p>[This fic is currently on hiatus, sorry.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very (very) loosely inspired by the show Southland, but you don't need to have seen any of it to read this. I originally started writing it because I wanted a Teen Wolf/Southland fusion but it has become something else entirely. 
> 
> I'll be playing fast and loose with American law and law enforcement since I learnt everything about it from TV and movies, oops! I'm also not American, so please ignore any slip ups.
> 
> Title taken from Dream On by Aerosmith.

 

 

Stiles is seven when he decides he wants to be an astronaut. 

He’s eight when he decides protecting people from fires sounds cooler than floating around in space and peeing in your own suit.  
  
He’s fifteen when he decides to be a cop.

He’s fifteen when his dad comes home from a twelve-hour shift, and tells Stiles that they found the girl that went missing from the subway a week ago. His dad looks like death warmed up, his uniform dishevelled and his eyes worn, but he has a proud smile lighting up his face and Stiles can’t stop his own answering smile.

At eighteen he leaves for college to study computer science.

A day after his twenty-first birthday, he applies at the Beacon City Police Academy.

 

**

 

When he first arrives, he gets assigned Richard Turner as his roommate.

Richard Turner smells. Literally. He doesn’t smell in the sense that he has questionable taste in movies (he does), or that he’s a miserable soul that darkens his side of room (he kind of is, and does). No, this guy smells like rotten eggs and wet dog with a sprinkle of dead fish, just to give that little bit extra to Stiles’ nostrils.  
  
Stiles lasts a week before he’s scared he’ll suffocate in the middle of the night and applies for a transfer to another room.

The woman that approves the transfer gives him a sympathetic look when he tells her who his current roommate is, and that’s how he meets Scott McCall his second week at the academy.

Technically, he met Scott his senior year, but neither of them remember the other, so it doesn’t count. Instead they both say they first met when one fateful night when Stiles was transferred to Scott’s dorm room on the other side of the grounds (the further away from Richard, the better).

Stiles is halfway through unpacking his gear onto his new bed when Scott shoves open the door so hard it bangs against the wall. It startles Stiles enough for him to jump, and Scott offers him a sheepish smile, mouthing a silent apology.

He’s thinking about going for a run, so he pulls his trainers from the bottom of his bag. The actions pulls half of his clothes out with his, spreading his shirts and pants across the floor and bed. Scott comes over to help him out, and picks up the first thing he sees.

“Dude, you went to BCH? _I_ went to BCH!” Stiles swivels around to look at Scott and sees the guy holding his Beacon City High lacrosse jersey, scrutinising the material like it was some puzzle he’s been stuck on for a week.

“I was on the lacrosse team…” Scott frowns, pulling at the jersey as if it holds all the answers to the world.

Stiles takes pity on the poor guy, swiping back the jersey and whipping Scott against his side with it gently, “I don’t remember you either, don’t worry.”

Scott’s frown stays firmly in place, his brow might actually crinkle _more_.

“I’m digging all the horror movie posters you’ve got going on,” Stiles says gesturing to the completely covered wall on Scott’s side of the room. The smile that breaks out across Scott’s face is so bright, it not only maybe blinds Stiles, but he can’t help but return it with a grin of his own.

Stiles decides then and there that he _likes_ Scott McCall.

“What happened to your last roomie?” Stiles asks as he leans down to retrieve a pair of underwear from the floor.

“He didn’t like the uniform.” Scott answers without any hesitation and with a completely straight face. Stiles is exactly zero percent sure if he’s being messed with.

“Are you messing with me?”

Scott picks up a shirt, throws it at Stiles, then shares another smile with him, “He also brought an illegal gun with him, and got caught shooting tin cans behind a building.”

“So just another day in the life basically…” Stiles mutters, stuffing the rest of his gear back into his bag.

“Yup. What training sessions did you get assigned?”

Stiles lists off the sessions he remembers like range-shooting and defensive tactics, then all the trainers he’s met so far.

It works out that they share almost all the same training sessions.

Scott is quicker and just generally better at the physical training, but Stiles isn’t far behind.

Stiles is better at strategies and tactics.

They help each other study, and get better at long distance shooting.

They soon become so inseparable that there’s rarely a moment someone says ‘Scott’ without following it with ‘and Stiles’.

 

**

 

Twenty-eight weeks later and the day finally arrives for Stiles to put on his uniform and stand with the rest of the graduates on the lawn of the Beacon City Police Academy.

When he wakes up that morning and puts on the formal uniform and looks at himself in the mirror, he doesn’t really feel anything out of the ordinary. Not even when Scott exits the bathroom with a smile so bright it competes with the polished shoes he’s sporting.

At the ceremony, he doesn’t stand next to Scott when they’re preparing to do the traditional march, because they’re ordered alphabetically. He easily recognises the back of Scott’s head though, even when he’s engulfed by the rest of the graduating cadets in their equally clean and tidy uniforms. Scott turns around and gives Stiles a double thumbs up as they’re warned that the march will begin in less than a minute.

Stiles feels a light flutter in the pit of his stomach. They’ve practiced the march for the last couple of weeks, but when they pass a crowd of civilians and Stiles catches a glimpse of his father looking at him with pure and absolute affection, he can barely contain the swell of pride within his chest, and he fights hard to keep a straight face.

The march doesn’t last long, but it’s long enough that by the time it ends, and their family and friends completely swarm the lines of the cadets with congratulations, Stiles is itching to get out of the crowd.

 

 

**

 

 

He hugs a few people as he passes through the crowd, but his gaze scours over every face in search of the only one he really wants looking back at him.

“Stiles!” He whirls around at the familiar voice, a grin already plastered on his face.

Okay, make that of two people.

“Well, well… looking slick, Officer McCall.” He calls out, scurrying over to meet his best friend and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Dude, have you seen my mom?” Scott’s asks as he untangles himself from around Stiles.

“What – no. Wait. Yes. Have you seen my Dad?” Stiles _hasn’t_ seen Scott’s mom, but Scott doesn’t really need to know that. One of the first things they’d been taught was to extract as much information as you can before offering any in return. Scott opens his mouth, eyes darting around. Stiles can see the exact moment he cottons on to Stiles’ ploy.

“Depends… where’d you see my mom?”

“Over by the punch bowl-” A hand drops down onto his shoulder, and the next thing he knows he’s being held tight against an unmistakable chest. “Dad!” His dad squeezes him tightly, crushing important internal organs.

It’s totally worth the loss of a kidney or two.

Stiles only squeezes back harder, reluctant to pull away until he feels the vice-like grip around him begin to loosen.

Scott skulks past them, his eyes narrowed, muttering about how, “There is no punch bowl.” Dad chuckles fondly, and points his finger without saying a word, effectively highlighting Melissa McCall’s position and sending Scott running over all in one motion. Stiles plans to wait as long as it takes for Dad to speaks first, but after only a moment he’s drawing his dad’s attention back to him by clearing his throat, and gesturing to his shiny new uniform, “Well?”

His dad looks him up and down for a moment, his face giving away nothing, before a smile breaks out, “You look damn fine, son.”

“Damn right.”

And in that moment, it feels like the best day of his life.

 

 

**

 

 

A month later, and by some super miracle, Scott and he are assigned to the same precinct; there had been a party – it was messy, skittles melted into the floor and blinds – to celebrate such an achievement - Dad had called it stupid luck, Stiles called it fate thank you very much).

Their very first steps into the place, three officers had crowded around them like harpies, shoving stacks of paper at them in every direction, telling them to, “Sign here, here and here. Now there,” and then disappeared.

But now it was time for the serious business. They were directed into a small room full of desks, empty aside from themselves. Stiles throws himself into one of the chairs, then immediately regrets it because _hello_ life long back problems. Scott is slightly more tentative about it, but Stiles can see the twitch of discomfort in his face.

Despite the chair Stiles rocks back, balancing on two of the legs, “So… who do you think our partners will be?” Stiles asks as if he actually knows who anyone is. He not so secretly hopes it’s Scott, however unlikely that might be.

“Uh… I don’t know anyone?” Scott replies like the Debby Downer that he is, “I know like, one officer.”

Stiles perks up at that because if Scott has connections, then _he_ has connections and connections were the best things since slice bread to get ahead, “Who?”

Scott gives him a look - a look Stiles knew all too well - It says, ‘I know you don’t have two heads but I’m going to stare at you like you do because then maybe you’ll get it’. Fortunately he also accompanies said look with words, “Officer Stilinski. Uh, you.” Like Stiles didn’t get it without the add-on, bless Scott’s beautiful soul.

“Oh, yeah.” He grins like a mad man, because ‘Officer Stilinski’ sounds absolutely amazing. Who cares if he has a year ahead of him as a probationary officer, he’s an _officer_ and that is music to his ears.

He doesn’t get much time to bask in the glory that it his own name before he hears noise coming from beyond the door. All at once, as if a switch has been flipped, a swarm of cops enter the room. Stiles drops all four legs of his chair to the floor with a dull thud, keeping his gaze steady on all the new faces. The room comes to life soon after with everyone talking loudly over the top of one another; a select few actually jostling around with one another like it’s some kind of frat house, and not a police station.

However, when a short man with crazy hair and crazier eyes slams the door open a moment later, and takes position behind the podium at the front of the room, everyone shuts their mouths with an almost audible click.

“I’m only going to say this once, so if you miss it, well that’s just tough titties.” Stiles scrunches up his face because any variation of the word ‘tit’ did not sit right in the man’s mouth, “I’m Captain Finstock, with an F.” Stiles honestly has no idea how else anybody would or could spell it, but okay. “We have some new faces with us today,” his eyes sweep over Stiles, Scott and a few people at the back of the room.

“The only thing you need to know is: nobody outside of this station likes you. If you think putting on the uniform guarantees you respect, think again.”

Stiles glances around the room and most of the occupants just look bored by Finstock’s speech. So, rehearsed speech it is then. He makes eye contact with a female officer over the other side of the room, she kindly greets him by rolling her eyes. Stiles is starting to think nobody in the room – bar Scott – liked him either.

“I don’t want to go all High School on your ass, but listen up for the name of your partner.” Stiles is definitely listening now, his gaze glued to Finstock.

“Brown, you’re with Phillips,” two women who obviously already know one another leave the room, “Lahey and McCall.” Stiles feels Scott tense, and a second later a curly hair man stands, gives Scott a good once over before actually nodding. Scott takes the offering like a dog to a bone, moving to join his new partner outside the cramped room. Stiles’ heart sinks and he suppresses the sudden urge to reach out and grab his friend as he passes him, and never let go. Scott was supposed to be _his_ partner, god damn it.

Finstock continues to prattle off name after name, with a smartass quip here and there. Stiles pays each name as much attention as the next, trying to put a face to the name, and actually remember them. A man with a stomach so round and large that his top is struggling to keep it inside the buttons gets up next and leaves with a short, twig of a woman. Stiles tries to imagine either of them passing the physical tests he had to endure at the academy. The only thing that pulls him back to reality is nis name leaving Finstock’s lips.

“Stilinski, you’re riding with Hale.”

Stiles tries to keep as still as possible, fighting the urge to whip his head around to see which of the remaining group moves first. He compromises, letting his head swivel enough to see behind him _just_ enough.

They might think that Stiles doesn’t notice, but he very definitely _does_ notice when practically everyone winces for _him._ Great, who the hell was this Hale?

He doesn’t have to wait long before a broody, bearded man in the corner furthest from the door lifts himself from the sorry excuse for a chair, and stares at Stiles… and then stares some more.

Stiles isn’t sure if he’s supposed to return the stare, but what do you know, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

The first thing he learns about Hale is holy mother of hell he has an intense stare. He’s really struggling to drag his eyes away from the other man.

This guy was meant to be his partner? Seriously? He looks like one of those people from How to be a Serial Killer 101.

(That wasn’t the exact name of the seminar he had attended, but it may as well have been as far as he’s concerned)

Hale’s gaze flickers away, and doesn’t return to Stiles’ as he exits the room without a word.

Rude.

 

 

**

 

 

It’s Stiles’ first time in an actual squad car while being on duty, so he should definitely get a little bit of slack for any and all mistakes that he may or may not make.

Officer Hale doesn’t feel the same.

 

Stiles is already in a rush to find his designated squad car, because Hale had just kind of disappeared into thin air after the meeting, and left Stiles to work out where he needed to be on his own.

Again, _rude_.

So when he eventually slides into the passenger seat, rifle in hand – yes, he’s meant to turn around and attach it to the appropriate clip that is specifically designed for said rifle. Does he actually do that? No, of course not, that would be too simple. Instead, he keeps it on his lap, fumbling it as he tries to clip in his seat belt, his nerves getting the better of him.

Stiles really wouldn’t be surprised if Hale _had_ killed before, if the death glare being sent his way is anything to go by. He takes a steadying breath, tells his first day jitters to kindly calm the fuck down and man the hell up, and eventually he clips the rifle in tight.

It was meant to dissuade the glare. It only half works.

“First lesson rookie, never be late again,” and okay, that’s the first time he’s actually heard Hale speak. He decides his voice really doesn’t suit his ‘grr, I’m a bear’ exterior. The thought of such a rough looking man having such a light and smooth voice distracts Stiles for long enough that Hale looks at him expectantly.

Stiles gives a small salute with two fingers, “Won’t forget it.”

Before anymore can be said though, the radio crackles to life, a woman’s voice coming through a moment later, supplying them with the information of a domestic dispute that has been called in, “ _Caller indicates escalation.”_ She finishes and the car becomes silent, but not for long.

Hale reaches over and picks up the radio, pressing the button down firmly, “Copy that,” and then they were peeling out of the lot, sirens blaring.

Where they were going certainly wasn’t the furthest place to travel to, but it _did_ require going through a few traffic lights. Stiles heart beat elevates as it dawns on him, that no he’s not just a passenger in a car, he’s a police officer and even when not driving he has important duties. They pass through one set of lights and the next minute Hale snaps, “Tell me when it’s clear!” Oh, right. He’d forgotten about that. So the next time they approach an intersection, Stiles looks left and right trying his best to make out the surroundings, make sure any and all cars have noticed the siren and won’t send them into oblivion.

“Clear!” He calls out just as they hit the intersection, adrenaline rushing through him.

 

**

 

When they do actually arrive at the apartment block and find apartment number ten, Hale pounds on the door so hard Stiles is sure his fist is about to go through the _very_ solid looking wood. That is, until a woman yanks the door open from the other side, her hair frazzled and her arms already flailing around as words just pour out of her mouth.

“Arrest him! He’s a god damn bastard! I never wanna fucking see him again!” Stiles looks between the woman and the man; he looks every bit just as out of whack, one sleeve of his shirt ripped.

Hale just sighs at the pair of them, his nostrils flaring. Stiles stares at _him_ in disbelief, because dude, _really?_

But then, “This is the third time in a month.” Hale grunts out, inviting himself into the couple’s home and hanging his sunglasses from the front of his shirt. Stiles follows after him, only fumbling with the door handle once as he closes the door. He counts it as a success since he’s feeling all kinds of stressed right now by having to be vigilant of a quite possibly violent man in the same room as him, and could charge at him at any given moment. The woman takes a breath, and Stiles can actually feel the new onslaught of screeching at full volume, thrumming through his bones. Investing in some industrial strength ear plugs sounds like a golden idea right about now and he makes a mental note to purchase some at the end of his shift.

But just as a wince begins to creep up his spine, Hale holds up a hand, effectively silencing the distraught woman.

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to remain calm, and quiet,” and then he drags her off to the other side of the room, away from her husband. Stiles knows a cue when he sees one so he steps over to the husband and invites him further away from her. Now it was all about garnering some information without the man becoming defensive, or violent.

The first thing he gets is a name: Bill Jennings.

“Bill, can you tell me what happened?”

Bill’s face scrunches up, absolute disgust washing over it before he speaks, “She’s crazy man! That bitch is crazy! I’m just at home and she comes storming in screaming at me, and you know I’m not about to take that shit. I don’t need that shit from her!”

Stiles jots down the key points of information on his notepad, “How long have you been home, and at what time did she come home?”

“I don’t…”

“I hate you!”

And welcome back Mrs Jennings. Good lord, her voice was _piercing_. Stiles kind of wishes his ears could take a vacation right about now.

“Then get a divorce.” That… wasn’t Mr or Mrs Jennings. The couple had fallen silent, gaping at one another, and then Hale opens his mouth again, “Each time I’ve come here you want me to arrest the other. You can’t stand one another.”

“But… I love her.”

 “I love him.”

Hale cocks an eyebrow, glancing between the two giving each a pointed stare.

“Did he hit you, Ma’am?”

“I… well, no.”

“Has he ever physically hurt you, Ma’am?”

She frowns at Hale and looks to her husband for support, “No, never.”

He repeats the same questions to Mr Jennings and while Bill looks confused for the most part, he shakes his head and says a firm ‘no’ to each question. Hale pockets his own notepad and straightens himself to full height as he heads toward the door, “One of you needs to move out. Soon.”

Both of them start at that, confusion quickly becoming anger, “What. No. I love him! This is my home.”

Hale never breaks his gaze as he inclines his head forward fractionally, “I’m sure you do. But you can’t live together. Not anymore.”

“We’re…what, no, we’re…”

“Ma’am, one of you either moves out within the next week, or I’ll be coming back here and arresting your husband for assault.”

“You can’t do that!” Stiles is pretty damn sure that’s not how the law works either, and yeah he’s new, _but_ Hale is his partner and he isn’t about to make him look bad in front of the public.

Is Hale for real? He looks serious about it.

“Ma’am, that’s the deal, and it’s the best deal for you, for him, and the general mental welfare of your neighbourhood.”  Stiles can hear the ‘and mine’ diplomatically left unsaid.

And as quickly as it had all began, Stiles is following Hale out of the house with a dumbstruck look plastered on his face all the way to the car. It's not until they slide back into the car that Stiles finds his voice. 

“Uh, so… I know it’s my first day and all that jazz, but I don’t think…”

“I was bluffing,” Oh. There’s that ‘you sure your head is screwed on right’ look. “Listen rookie, you’re fresh out of the academy, and you can follow your codes and rule book, but this is real life. That’s not going to cut it.” Hale pauses to start up the car and pull out onto the street, “When I’m chasing down a suspect, I don’t want the guy behind me to be thinking about following protocol. I want him to have my back.”

Stiles opens his mouth, a smart remark on the tip of his tongue, but his brain catches up with him and he snaps it shut, and gives a short nod as he buckles himself in.

This was going to be a _long_ shift.

 

**

 

 

His first day was draining to say the least. So when Stiles returns to his apartment, words can’t express how glad he is to see Scott already there, in the kitchen cooking what looks like pasta.

“I love you,” he groans, dumping his bag unceremoniously on the floor, “I love you like no other.”

Scott doesn’t turn to greet him, but Stiles can hear the smile in his voice, “I didn’t think you were coming home. I didn’t cook enough for you dude. I hope that’s okay. You ate right?”  
  
Stiles wants to wrap himself around Scott and tell him that no it was _not okay_ at all, not in the slightest. Stiles was so hungry, he’s positive his stomach is actually eating it’s own acids right now. He wants to wrap himself around Scott, and then he wants to strangle him, because he hungry and he’s tired and he’s had to spend the whole day with Hale the freaking asshole.  
  
He compromises and lets his forehead fall against the back of Scott’s shoulders, letting out a pained groan, “I hate you,” He mutters into Scott’s shirt, “I hate you like no other.”  
  
He feels more than hears Scott’s laughter, and a second later his head is being pushed away and a plate of _delicious_ looking spaghetti is in front of him. He swears he hears angels singing in that moment. It must show on his face because Scott only laughs more and shoves the plate at him more.

He scoffs down three bowls of spaghetti in the next half an hour. Scott eats four, so he doesn’t feel bad about stuffing his face.

 

They’re playing some new zombie game Scott bought when either of them even brings up their first day on the job.

“So, Lahey huh?” Stiles asks very unsubtlety. He has a million questions about his best friend’s new partner, but this seems like a good start.

“Isaac, yeah. He’s alright.”

Stiles raises one eyebrow, but doesn’t turn his gaze away from the zombie head he’s currently chopping in half, “High praises right there.”

Scott jabs his elbow into Stiles’ ribs gently, “Shut up. He’s cool. I guess. I don’t really know him yet, but he seems okay you know? He’s only a few years older than us.

“No Scott, I _don’t_ know.” He scoffs, “I have the partner from hell, okay?”

Scott’s fingers still over the buttons he was previously hitting, and Stiles doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that he’s got a frown on his face.

“What? Why?”

“He’s just- he just glares. That’s all he does! He glares, and frowns. He doesn’t even talk! What kind of human doesn’t talk, Scott?” He can feel Scott about to ask, so he rushes onward, “Okay, maybe he talks to like witnesses and suspects, and _everyone that isn’t me._ Ugh, I hate his stupid face.”

With each word, he hacks more and more of another zombie up, before shooting another one that runs at him. He glances at Scott because he hasn’t answered yet, and he finds the frown no longer on his friend’s face, but a really annoying amused glint in his eye.  
  
“You’re an acquired taste.”  
  
“I am no- Shut up. You love me. Maybe _he’s_ the acquired taste.” Because that makes so much more sense to Stiles.  
  
“Him and his stupid face.” Scott says after a long pause.

“Yeah, him and his stupid face.”

A zombie eats his arm two minutes later.

 

**

 

 

The next morning Stiles regrets going to bed at two am, because he’s up again at five am and that’s just gross. He groans and buries his face against his pillow. His _fluffy_ pillow, damn it.  
  
It takes him another five minutes, but he eventually finds the strength to actually get out of bed, a little wobbly on his feet because his _body hasn’t freaking woken up yet._ Nobody gets nice things in the morning. 

Even his usual morning shower is ruined by him falling asleep against the wall every few minutes, and getting a rude shock when he accidentally starts swallowing water.

 

When he makes it to the station, gets changed into his uniform and heads out to the car, he’s genuinely surprised that he’s _on time_. He wants to high five himself, maybe even do a little song and dance but his celebrations are cut short when Hale sticks his head out the window and tells him to hurry up.

Stiles slides into the passenger seat, clicks his rifle into place and buckles in.

Hale, as usual, says nothing.

When he flicks on the radio, there’s chatter, but nothing specifically calling for them, but it doesn’t stop them from leaving the compound like normal.

They’ve been patrolling the streets for an hour when they first pull a Mercedes Benz over for speeding. Hale takes point, leaning down to converse with the driver as Stiles covers him from the tail end of the car.  
  
Hale issues the elderly woman with a warning, and tells her she needs to renew her license within the next week. There’s nothing extraordinary about the whole process, but the end does catch Stiles’ attention because Hale… smiles.  
  
He honest to god _smiles_ as he sends the woman on her way, and it’s actually kind of stunning. He’s only known the guy a day, but Stiles is sure that Hale’s miserable face shouldn’t be able to do that.  
  
As soon as the woman leaves, Hale’s face falls back into stoic misery. Ah, yes. That’s the face Stiles has become already used to.They’re only back on the road for a few minutes before a report of a disturbance comes in, and they’re heading back in the opposite direction to respond.

When they arrive, it’s not hard to deduce that the disturbance is coming from the tattoo parlour. Not because they’re all gang members with a gun for a third hand and solve all their problems with bullets. Firstly, Stiles doesn’t even believe in that stereotype of tattoo artists, and secondly, well… someone just got thrown out the door of the parlour and onto the pavement, so that helps.

He and Hale jump out of their respective sides of the car and rush in, they pass the man on the pavement but he’s getting up, so they’ll have to deal with him afterward. They position themselves between a shirtless burly, bearded man and what can only be the shop’s owner.

The burly man seems to be the most aggravated, but before Stiles can step forward and calm him down, Hale beats him to it and presses a hand to the man’s chest, shoving him back hard enough that he’ll actually step back, but not hard enough that it would actually hurt.

“What’s the problem here?” Hale asks, and Stiles takes a step closer to the shop owner in case the burly man becomes aggravated again.  
  
“Look what he did!” The man growls and shows his back to both of them. The name ‘Dennis’ is newly etched onto the skin, red blots blossoming around it, “It’s supposed to say Denise!”  
  
Hale’s gaze drops to the tattoo, before he raises it to look at the man who turns to meet Hale’s stare.  
  
“Looks like some fine art work.” Hale says, and Stiles chokes on a laugh.  
  
“I ain’t no fag! Do I look like some kind of fag to you?”

“I don’t know, what does a ‘fag’ look like?” He asks with a pointed stare.

Stiles wants to throw Hale a freaking parade right now, because _damn_. However, per usual, Stiles’ celebrations are ruined by someone else when the burly man rushes forward and slams into Hale so hard that Hale is pushed backward until his back hits the hard ground of the parlour. The man is on top of his partner, about to connect a fist with his face, and hell no. Stiles jolts forward swiftly and gets behind the man before he wraps an arm around the man’s neck and holds him in a headlock, the kind of headlock his dad had taught him when he’d first applied for the academy. The kind of headlock that took away enough of the man’s air supply for him to pass out. He’s almost completely wrapped around the man as he waits for the man to stop resisting, and when he does Stiles breathes a loud, relieved sigh as he lifts himself up off the floor.  
  
He offers Hale a helping hand when he sees the man attempting to lift his weight while half of the large man was still on top of him. Hale grunts, but doesn’t thank him.  
  
It’s a whole three hours later when they take a lunch break, that Hale says anything at all to him.

“Tacos good with you?” He asks as he returns with two tacos in hand. Stiles is unimpressed that those are his first words, but he’s also hungry, so.

“I really want bacon, but I could go for tacos.” He takes the offered food, and rests his backside against the side of the car. Hale joins him and takes his first bite.

Stiles hasn’t gotten that far yet, because he’s hung up on bacon, “My favourite deli closed down when I was sixteen, and I miss their bacon. I’m aching for that bacon right now, you don’t know the lengths I would go to get awesome bacon, Hale.”

Hale makes some kind of grunting sound.

Stiles turns and squints in concentration for a few seconds before he gives up on trying to work it out, “What?”

“I said, Derek.” It looks like it physically pains him to say it too, “Just- That’s my name.” and then he stalks away to the trash can. Stiles stares at his back, because what the hell. Did Hale seriously think Stiles didn’t know his name?

After their first shift together, Stiles had been inundated with paper work on his return to the station, and almost every form required his partner’s first _and_ last name, thank you.

(He’d asked the officer in charge of the front desk what Hale’s first name was, and that suited him just fine.)

“I know what your name is,” He blurts out when Hale returns to the car. Derek just rolls his eyes, a small twitch playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Never mind, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles gets the feeling this is some kind of special way of saying sorry and thank you, so he just nods.

 

**

 

 

A month later, and by some miracle they’re still partners.

Stiles feels like he deserves an award.  
  
He’s sure Derek feels the same most of the time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://erksy.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you to my beautiful sister [arccie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arccie), and the utterly amazing and wonderful [Cat](http://jaegerorangecat.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this! <3

After only a month, the Hale and Stilinski partnership is unsteady to say the least.

When Stiles had graduated from the academy, he’d had all kinds of hopes and dreams full of Scott and himself roaming the streets shoulder to shoulder, Starsky and Hutch style.

(If he and Scott had gotten drunk one night and ordered replica costumes from the original show, then that was their business.)

But it wasn’t to be so.

When he’d found out that Scott wasn’t going to be his partner, yeah, his dreams had been shattered but he’d quickly decided that if he couldn’t have Scott then he’d have the next best thing; someone to shoot the breeze with, someone who would come to feel like an extension of himself. Stiles had learnt a lot of things from his dad about the force, but the one thing his old man had always gone on about was his partners, about how important they were. Not only when it comes to getting things done, but also to help keep you sane and balanced.

Instead, Stiles gets Derek who drives him insane.

A month into their partnership, and even though Derek has warmed up slightly (emphasis on the slightly) he’s still grouchy and mostly uninviting to Stiles as a person.

Stiles decides this needs to be remedied, because he doesn’t have a legitimate reason to request a new partner. He can’t just waltz into Finstock’s office and tell him that Derek should smile more, or that he should actually reply with more than monosyllabic grunts when Stiles was making a super important point about the history of the force’s uniforms.

Finstock goes on and on about how little rookies know, so Stiles knows he’d only be thrown out of his captain’s office.

Derek just… irks him, in the worst possible way. When Derek had offered Stiles his name after the tattoo parlour incident, Stiles had stupidly thought they were actually getting somewhere. However, not even a week later they went a whole shift where even _Stiles_ felt uncomfortable breaking the silence that filled the car, and Stiles could talk the ear off a donkey on a good day.

It’s a typical day at the station, everyone busy and bustling around him, when he pulls Scott aside and tells him, “My partner hates me, and I’m beginning to think I might hate him a little bit too.”

Stiles resists the urge to shake Scott like a ragdoll and shout ‘help’ in his face as loud as possible when Scott takes longer than five seconds to speak.

“He doesn’t hate you,” is what Scott decides to go with and Stiles levels him with the most unimpressed look he can muster in that moment. Scott seems to get the hint, because he quickly continues.

“I’m serious, dude. First of all, no one could hate you, not really. Secondly, I know he doesn’t hate you because you’re his eighth partner in the last two years. Do you know how long the others lasted?” Stiles tries his best to do the math in his head, but Scott doesn’t really give him a chance to get to the finish line, “Two _weeks,_ Stiles _.”_

Stiles is on the verge of telling Scott even he knows that the math doesn’t add up - Derek would’ve had to have been working alone for most of the last two years and… _oh_. Yeah, he sees the pleased look that passes over Scott’s face as his friend realises Stiles has caught on.

“Exactly, and do you know why they only lasted that long? Because Derek kept citing irreconcilable differences and requesting new partners until, well…”

“Me,” Stiles finishes for him, and Scott acknowledges it with a nod. “Wait. How do you even know that? You’re not just making it up, because you feel guilty that you abandoned me to Derek as a partner, are you?”

Scott rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles’ shoulder gently, “No, you idiot. Isaac told me. He was supposed to be Derek’s partner last year but Derek flat out refused.”

Stiles nods seriously, gripping Scott’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze that he hopes conveys his thanks, “I need to go do something.”

 

***

 

He finds Derek waiting for him, leaning against their squad car and the first thing that leaves his mouth is, “I’m not even late, stop scowling.”

Derek’s scowl only deepens as he pushes himself off the hood of the car, making his way around to slide into the driver’s side, “I know… and I wasn’t scowling,” he says under his breath as he buckles in, Stiles doing the same beside him.

The second thing that leaves Stiles’ lips was supposed to be the first, but Derek’s stupid scowl had distracted him, so he really doesn’t think he should be held responsible.

“Why am I your partner?”

Derek pauses in his attempt to turn the car on and swivels to look at Stiles with a look that can only be described as surprise. He quickly gets over that because the next second his focus abruptly shifts back to turning the car key, obviously avoiding Stiles’ question.

Stiles takes a second to psych himself up for the conversation he decides they’re about to have. Derek might get on his nerves, but there was no denying the guy was still intimidating.

“I know about your… partner issues,” Stiles begins and Derek’s sudden sharp gaze on him makes him halt, but Stiles soldiers on, “What I don’t get is, if you switched out your partners so regularly and refused to take on Isaac… how did you end up with me? Why aren’t you working by yourself anymore?”

“Budget cuts,” Derek supplies quickly, and looks so constipated by his answer Stiles wants to laugh in his face. However, he also wants to slap Derek across the face because ‘budget cuts’ is so obviously a lie, it hurts Stiles’ brain.

“You’re lying.”

Derek sighs loudly and looks like he wants to throw himself out of the moving car just to get away from this conversation. Stiles likes to think of it as some kind of victory.

“Fine,” Derek grunts, “I wasn’t supposed to have a partner, again. But Finstock suddenly decided this was the year to play happy family and he stuck me with some _rookie_. I work better alone.”

Stiles snorts, because excuse you. Still, he glances at the clock on the dashboard and when Derek fails to take notice of that, Stiles very pointedly looks at his bare wrist as if a watch adorns it.

“Well I hate to be the one to tell you, but yourtwo weeks has long since passed. Maybe youdon’t actually hate me,” he mutters the last part to himself.

Or he thought he’d said it softly enough until Derek cuts in with, “No, I hate you. But…” he trails off as they roll up to a stop sign.

“You’re okay. For a rookie.”

Stiles gapes at him, because that is high praise indeed coming from Derek Hale. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all.

Still, he can’t help himself when he blurts out, “Then why can’t you smile more, or engage in actual conversations?”

Derek pins him with a flat stare, “We’re conversing right now. Now do you want to keep chatting or do you want to do our job?”

“You suck,” is the only thing Stiles can muster because he takes it all back. Derek is the actual worst.

They’ve travelled two more blocks and pulled over to the side of the road before Derek’s voice fills the car again, albeit not very loudly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t care about where the material for cop’s uniforms came from in 1935.”

“You can say anything. You could have said _that_ at the time, you ass.”

“Shut up, Stilinski.”

Stiles pauses, because that almost sounded _friendly_.

“Nope, no can do. You totally want to talk to me, about things that you _care_ about. I heard it loud and clear.”

Derek only groans, rests his forehead against the steering wheel and asks ‘why me?’

  

*******

 

 

In the last couple of weeks alone Stiles and Derek have responded to the most mind-numbing call-outs in the history of the entire world. Stiles had known it wasn’t going to be all high-speed chases and parties.

(Like he legitimately didn’t think either of those were frequent or even semi-frequent occurrences.)

Before his father had retired he’d been a freaking captain for crying out loud. But he’d been hoping for something a little more exciting than parking tickets and helping little old ladies across the street by now.

If they have to respond to even _one_ more call from _someone_ who has locked their keys in the car, Stiles was going to punch a wall, hard.

People should take pity on his knuckles, if nothing else.

Derek handles it better. Sure, he’s the senior officer of the two, but he’s grumpy, and impatient and _grumpy_. So Stiles pretty much expects Derek to slam heads into walls and walk away Clint Eastwood style.

Stiles knows _he_ kind of wants to sometimes.

Okay, he definitely wants to.

But each time they receive a new call out Derek just handles it with an annoying amount of diligence, and passes out random tips to Stiles along the way. It’s a new thing; the tips and tricks of the trade advice had only started a week ago. Because Stiles had become so accustomed to Derek’s silent, brooding presence he’d been completely unprepared when Derek actually tried to teach him something, so much so that he’d only watched blankly when he showed Stiles a quick way to clip his rifle into its grip.

It’s exactly what he should expect from a senior officer, but this was Derek so at the time he’d felt like pumping his fists in the air and running around like a crazy person. He’d very barely been able to restrain himself, but Derek had still given him odd looks.

Today they’re driving along a busy road, with an eye on the streets around them – just another day in the life of Stiles, really. Neither of them sees the woman before she runs out in front of them. She’s not close enough for there to have been any chance of the car hitting her, but she’s close enough that it startles Derek into hitting the brakes and they screech to an abrupt stop. Stiles is silently grateful that he’d already finished his cup of coffee, otherwise it would have been all over him and the dashboard.

They pull over, switch on their lights and get the woman off the road as quickly as they possibly can, then helps her sit down on the sidewalk.

“M-My baby. My baby, she’s gone!” The woman cries out. Stiles’ body goes cold as he feels the beginnings of panic building in his chest, thinking through a long list of protocols designed for this exact situation.

Derek however, just nods like somebody just asked if they could borrow his phone (Stiles is pretty sure Derek would deny said somebody access to his phone. Stiles had tried – he knows these things, but still the gesture is so… normal, that it kind of catches Stiles off guard.

“Okay, I need you to calm down for me,” Derek says softly and crouches down so he’s at her eye level, “What’s your daughter’s name?”

The woman scrubs her face with her hands, obviously distressed, “Campbell! My baby!” The woman cries out for Campbell again and Stiles’ mind jumps to all the possible things that could have happened to Campbell. Did she get hit by a car, oh god, had she been kidnapped?

“Ma’am,” Derek tries again, “What does your daughter look like, do you have a photo?”

The woman wails, but somewhere in there she nods and starts rummaging through her bag, “She’s beautiful, so silver and metallic, oh god what if she’s empty!”

Wait, _what._

Stiles stares at her, completely bewildered by the description. She hands over the photo to Derek who nods slowly. Stiles swears he sees the man breathe a sigh of relief, and okay now he really wants to see that photo. When he does, he doesn’t even believe what he’s seeing.

A can of soup.

A can of Campbell’s _Chunky Soup_.

Derek holds out an arm for her, and helps her to her feet, “I know where she is,” he says, his voice smooth and calm as he grants her a small smile. Stiles is still too dumbfounded to even move right now, and Derek- Derek is doing _something_. When the woman is stable on her feet, Derek tells both of them to wait here and then he jogs down the sidewalk. There’s an awkward tension between Stiles and Soup Woman. Despite all the cars on the road right beside them, Stiles feels like it’s too quiet and he’s _this_ close to talking about the weather when Derek finally returns.

He returns with a can of tomato soup in his hand and it takes Stiles a second to actually process that information. Derek just presses the soup into the woman’s hand and she curls her fingers around it, rubbing her cheek against the label, imminent meltdown seemingly forgotten.

They stay with her for a few more minutes, helping her on her way again before they return to the car. Derek doesn’t start the engine straight away, the key hovering just in front of the starter.

“It’s hard but try not to panic before hearing all the details. Always listen and observe, no matter what you think the situation might be. Don’t just judge them and walk away,” he says after a lengthy pause, “I don’t think anybody knows her real name, but we all know her as Nora.”

“Nora?” Stiles asks, wondering how well Derek knows the woman considering he definitely saw his partner squeeze her shoulder when Nora had departed.

“This is my first time meeting her in person, but I’ve heard stories. She’s homeless, doesn’t last long in shelters… she’s not stable but…” Derek trails off and huffs a soft laugh. It’s not a happy sound, more of a puff of air really.

“Jones has regular contact with her, and he said he’d never met a bad person named Nora and I guess it just stuck. She’s very attached to her things.”

And Derek had bought her a can of soup.

It’s the most words Stiles has heard Derek string together at any one time. Stiles makes a face at him because he doesn’t know how to deal with the swell of affection that blooms in his chest at that moment.

Derek doesn’t even glance at him as he pulls back out into the traffic.

Once whatever was going on in his chest has calmed down, he realises he’s craving soup and tells Derek as much.

Derek tells him he’s an idiot, but it sounds warmer than usual.

 

***

 

 

Somehow between the late night patrols and the constant bickering, they manage to make it work. Stiles is no longer a probationary officer andeighteen months later he’s still Derek’s partner.

Eighteen months later and Stiles doesn’t thank any gods for surviving a year on the streets of Beacon City.

He thanks his partner. Silently, of course.

He wouldn’t want it to go to Derek’s head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long it took to update this, and that it's so short! I hope you enjoy it, and I'll try to have the next chapter up quicker.
> 
> You can always find me on [tumblr](http://starkology.tumblr.com) for questions or anything else. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you once again to [Cat](http://jaegerorangecat.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this.

They had just dropped off another junkie in the tank after some shop owners had complained about him loitering and scaring away their customers, and rather than head straight back out to the streets they had been forced to take a detour to the squad room per Finstock’s orders.

Derek enters the busy room ahead of him, making a beeline for a desk.

Despite their similar height, Stiles hasn’t failed to notice how much more muscle Derek has in comparison to him, and lately Stiles has found it increasingly convenient (and somewhat distracting) to watch Derek’s shoulder blades work beneath his top. Stiles likes to think that after working together for over a year, he and Derek have become infinitely more friendly than they originally had been, and Stiles is sure he’s seen Derek check himself out in the side mirror of the car more than once, so Stiles doesn’t even feel bad about appreciating the view from behind.

Sue him.

He’s currently doing exactly that, wondering in the back of his mind if Derek does exercise while he sleeps, so it isn’t until Derek is very unceremoniously pushed aside by someone and arms are wrapping around Stiles that he actually realises Scott is in the room.

Somewhere in his mind Stiles knows he _should_ be embarrassed by the huge grin that breaks out across his face but screweveryone else this is _Scott._

“Hey buddy,” Stiles greets him as the pair pulls away from the tight embrace, “Feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks,” which isn’t exactly true, or anywhere near true really.

In fact he saw Scott this morning when they had both been getting ready for work - they’d even fought over who got to use the shower first with a quick game of darts. Stiles had won, but barely. So, whatever. He saw Scott only a few hours ago.

Scott gives him a look that says he’s thinking exactly the same, so Stiles shrugs his way out of it and around Scott and leaves him with a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Miss you too, dude!” Scott calls out as Stiles sits down at the assigned desk. It isn’t even _his_ desk. This station runs on a first in best-dressed kind of desk protocol and he is very rarely first in, or best dressed.

Besides, calling it _his_ desk would imply it is in some way welcoming, when in fact it is a son of a bitch that only ever spits paperwork at him.

Thanks, but no thanks.

He lifts his head, drawing his glare away from the desk and slowly realises there are a few familiar faces currently filling out the room. Isaac, Scott’s partner huddles into a corner desk – he’s obviously drawn the short straw because that is the only space with a typewriter instead of a computer. Stiles cries on the inside for him (but silently celebrates his own good fortune) because you never realise how many times you use a particular letter until the _typewriter from hell_ decides it doesn’t like that letter and never puts it on the page. Hell, the desk he’s commandeered doesn’t even _have_ a computer and it’s one thousand times better than the typewriter in the corner.

Rest in peace Isaac Lahey, it had been an honour serving with you.

As Stiles prays silently for Isaac, Finstock decides it’s the perfect time to slam open the doors and make his usual entrance. He doesn’t even blink at anyone else as he comes straight toward Stiles and slams down a stack of paper.

It’s just another piece of evidence proving that desks only spat paperwork at him.

“Sir…” Stiles begins to protest because is he kidding? He freaking better be.

“Discharged your weapon, didn’t you? Everyone fills them out, Stilinski. You know the rules, now do it,” and he swans off like the actual bastard he is.

Stiles turns his glare back to the stupid desk. Ugh, he didn’t want to deal with this right now. Oh how he wishes he were at a desk with a computer right about now.

He releases a heavy sigh. How is it fair that a drug-addled prostitute runs at him with a knife in one hand and a can of Stiles doesn’t even want to know what (Derek had joked it was urine. Stiles hadn’t laughed because _no_ ) in the other, and when he shot the guy _he_ ’s drowned in a sea of paperwork?

Stiles had given warning, plenty of damn warning. It was a rubber bullet even. The prostitute survived - the prostitute was back on the streets a few hours after.

Bureaucracy can kiss his ass.

The only thing that makes it anywhere near okay is that Derek had also fired at the prostitute’s pimp and Stiles has never met anyone who hates paperwork as much as Derek does, himself included. It’s like crisp white paper has personally offended the Hale family at some point, if the way Derek’s eyebrows drop down about five degrees each time he has to flip a page, is anything to go by.

Derek usually just grumbles and shoves it to the side, strapping his gun to his belt, calls Stiles with a pointed look and leaves the room. It’s a system. Get the paperwork, ignore it until you absolutely can’t, then regret every decision you’ve ever made in your life because you end up with a mountain of what could only be described as molten lava hell at the end of the week.

It’s a _good_ system, but Stiles would drop any and all loyalty and sign his soul away to the devil if it got him a computer he could quickly fill out forms on.

Today was not that day.

This time though, Derek just sighs loudly and presses the pen to the paper with a heavy hand filling in each excruciating line. Stiles wants to grin because ha- _ha_ , Derek is at the desk right next to him and therefore hadn’t gotten a computer either. Partners do as partner does.

Derek looks at the paper like if he glares at it long enough it will light itself on fire. Objectively, Stiles knows another piece of paper would have to be filled out but so help him he will send as much positive energy as he can muster toward Derek’s mighty effort.

Stiles winces a moment later though, feeling his pain because that means _he_ has to fill them out right at this very moment too and yep, the next thing he knows he’s screwing up a word on his own stupid form with one stroke of the pen.

Who even screws up ‘attack’, damn it.

He so doesn’t want to start again so he shoves his head into his hands, rests his elbows heavily on the table and lets out a harsh breath.

He’s about to go and hunt down Finstock and ask for another form (actually asking for paper work, what has Stiles’ life become) when Derek reaches over and scribbles out the word Stiles has misspelt. He presses down so hard, Stiles is sure the pen is going to rip through the paper and onto the table and then Stiles would have to put up with Derek grumbling about having to fill out another form for office vandalism. Stiles has never actually seen said form, but there’s a form for _everything_ so he has no doubt whatsoever that it exists.

“Just rub it out until it’s unreadable and write it again,” Derek says, “McCall’s pen leaked all over his paper the first time and Finstock still accepted it. So.”

Stiles glances at Derek sideways as they sit shoulder to shoulder – it did sound like something Scott would do. He loves Scott like the brother he never had and he was a fierce police officer but he was still,… Well, Scott.

However, colour Stiles suspicious. Derek is _never_ this helpful when it comes to paperwork. In fact, Derek is the _most_ unhelpful person when it comes to paperwork.

“Yeah?” he asks instead, his pen hovering over the paper, his arm resting against Derek’s “I think he has it out for me, D-man – “

“Don’t call me D-man,” Derek grumbles without looking up from the page.

“I think he has it out for me,” Stiles continues, ignoring Derek, because Stiles has seen the way Finstock leers at him when he comes in for his shifts, “I know he does, man.”

Derek rubs a hand down his face, sighing into it with a huff. It’s such a Derek thing to do, Stiles can’t stop the way his lips twitch into an almost smile.

“You think everyone is after you,” Derek pauses, putting his own pen back to his own paper before continuing, “They aren’t.”

Stiles gapes, because was Derek not there when the armed drug dealer ran at him, or when the crazy woman from the martial arts centre tackled him to the ground, or when the bank teller threw a _machete_ at Stiles’ head.

Because he was there when it happened and Stiles would testify in court that _all_ of them were out to get him.

He continues to gape at Derek for another moment before snapping his mouth shut only to open it again to say exactly that when Derek just looks at him, face blank, “They don’t count, they’re part of the job.”

Stiles snaps his mouth shut once more and keeps it shut for a few moments, because that was creepy. Derek is such a creeper.

“You’re such a creeper, dude,” he waits another beat before grinning, “They so count, though. They were totally out to get me, badge or no.”

Derek only scowls.

 

***

 

 

 

Derek is his usual brooding self in the patrol car an hour later when Stiles finally slides in.

“You’re late.”

Stiles pauses in setting up the computer and GPS system and turns to Derek.

“It’s two minut—“

“You’re late.”

Stiles shoves his fingers against the small keyboard, being louder than he needs to be as he takes  extreme care to jab every key and not just the ones he needs to press. He can practically feel Derek tense up with each precise _tap, tap, tap._

“Stiles.”

S key, T key, I, L, I-

“Stiles!”

He offers Derek a shit-eating grin, but relents and slides his fingers away from his favourite toy. Derek takes a steadying breath, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel and closing his eyes. Stiles likes to imagine he’s counting to ten when he does that, but he’s really probably working out a way to dispose of Stiles’ body without anyone knowing.

A few moments later Derek seems to lose an internal struggle he was facing, because he snaps, “Stiles, just set it up so we can _go_.”

Stiles does, and he does it swiftly. He only takes his sweet time because he knows how much it annoys Derek. Stiles is a professional after all.

Derek barely waits ten seconds before he shoves the car into gear and they are off, speeding (but not really) down the streets of Beacon City. There’s dull chatter over the radio but Stiles pays it no real attention – after more than a year on the job he’s learnt how to pick out the important codes without actually listening to the whole chunk of information.

Does he share that piece of information with Derek? No he does not. He’s not suicidal, thank you very much.

The awkward silences that once filled their car ride for their first few weeks together rarely happen now. Instead, sometimes he and Derek sit in silence while they drive around and it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest; they’ve already said everything that needs to be said about whatever they’d been talking about and that’s totally okay. As much as Stiles loves talking, he’s begun to really enjoy _those_ quiet moments with Derek in the car.

But.

This wasn’t one of those times. This was one of those times where the silence tugs at the corners of his mind; it makes him fidget and all the things hidden away in his mind sprout to the forefront. So when he blurts out, “Hey Derek, if you had to murder me – no, wait – if you murdered me in cold blood – wait, it wouldn’t be cold blood, like I’m sure you’d think there was a legitimate reason, I don’t know what, but – so, if you mu-”

It isn’t the least bit surprising when Derek cuts him off with a sharp, “Stiles!”

Stiles kind of loves how much their relationship has evolved to Derek using more than grunting and glaring to convey his thoughts. Really, the man might still be a robot but he’s learnt to _emote._ Sort of. Sometimes _._

But Stiles is on a roll right now, “I’m, like, at least 65% sure when you get frustrated with me and do your whole routine to get yourself through it you’re not counting to ten, you’re actually murdering me and disposing of my body somewhere safe, and I mean I think a corn field would be pretty handy but can you say corny?” Yeah, he went there.

“Maybe a cemetery, it’s kind of cliché, but it’s way more practical so you know…”

Derek doesn’t turn to look at him, because hello he’s driving and he’s also a professional, but he does scrunch his face up when Stiles trails off.

“I- what?” Derek asks, making a face like Stiles has asked him the world’s most confusing riddle. Stiles continues to stare at Derek waiting for more words, but alas, nothing comes. Derek had been doing so well with his words, too.

“If you killed me. Corn, maggots…” He waves his hands around trying to demonstrate being buried in a ditch as best he can. It doesn’t go as well as he plans, but he feels talented with his charade skills nonetheless.

“I don’t want to kill you, idiot.” Derek’s eyes flicker to him then quickly back to the road. Stiles opens his mouth to tell Derek he is in fact not an idiot, thank you very much, but the radio beats him to it.

“We’ve had a complaint of public indecency over on...” They listen for the details and when they receive the location, Derek shakes his head and huffs. Stiles already knows why. East Beacon Park is one of the of the city’s most popular parks - lots of people, lots of families, especially on a Saturday.

Stiles kind of wants to huff too, because dealing with screaming children in a park? Not that high on his list of things he likes to do.

He reaches over and picks up the radio, “Copy that.”

 

 

***

 

When they arrive, it isn’t immediately obvious where they need to go; the park is big and it doesn’t take a genius to work out there is plenty of good spots for a quick rendezvous to exchange goods (drugs, pretty much always drugs).

Fortunately, an elderly woman comes hobbling over to them waving her arms like a crazy person. By now, Stiles likes to assume almost all of the public is crazy before they speak - it helps him not become attached and makes it that much easier to draw his weapon if he assumes they are going to try and jam a needle into his eyeball.

Derek has his hands on her shoulders in mere moments, attempting to calm her down, “Ma’am. _Ma’am_. I need you to calm down and tell me where it is.” She opens her mouth and then closes it, looking as if Derek had personally insulted her by speaking. But a moment later she holds out her arm, a frail finger pointing across the park, “By the pond. The ducks, right next to the ducks!” She croaks out, looking utterly affronted that anyone would do anything near ducks.

Stiles kind of wonders what they’re doing to the ducks, but he taps Derek on the shoulder as he passes by, letting him know he’ll be going on ahead while Derek takes care of the old woman.

A minute later, he’s closing in on the pond, and a small flock of ducks waddle out of his way as he reaches a small cluster of bushes right next to the body of water. “Beacon City Police Department, show me your hands,” loud rustling and a pair of hands extending from the bush greet his request.

Stiles squints and inspects the hands as much as he can from a distance, “I need you to slowly exit the bush and keep your hands in view at all times.”

More rustling, and then a half naked man steps out from the bush. Stiles is just glad the man has pants on to be honest, “Turn your back to me, hands on your head,” Stiles orders, to which the guy complies easily enough. Thank god, Stiles does not feel like running through the park after him. “Are you alone, or is there someone else in there?”

A small smile tugs at the man’s lips, which just looks plain creepy. “Jess,” he practically purrs. Stiles _really_ isn’t paid enough to deal with creeps like this.

“Jess, I need you to slowly exit the bush and keep your hands in view at all times,” Stiles repeats, waiting patiently like the saint he is. He points to the man, then the ground, “You, sit.”

The woman exits the bush, clothes intact and follows Stiles’ instructions to a T. When he has them both sitting on the ground, he finally releases a soft sigh.

“What were you doing in the bushes?” The colour filling her cheeks, and the grin fighting to spread over her partner’s is all the answer Stiles really needs, but official business, so, “Are you awar—“

“ _Peter_?” Stiles whips around so quickly he’s sure he pulls something in his neck, and there’s Derek. Stiles blinks and Derek returns it with a blank stare of his own.

Ah, Stiles loves their conversations.

The man – Peter, Stiles guesses by the look on his face – turns toward Derek, “I don’t suppose it would help my case if I said this isn’t what it looks like, hm?”

Derek responds with a heavy groan. “I can’t believe you. This is a public park!”

Stiles doesn’t miss the way Peter’s lips upturn at that. _O-kay_ then. He also doesn’t miss the way Derek’s lips pull down so hard, Stiles is worried if the wind changes he’ll be stuck like that.

“You know him?” He asks eventually, glancing between the two. Stiles didn’t think Derek could look any grumpier but what do you know he really, really can.

“Not by choice.” Stiles waits for more, and frowns when Derek fails to continue for a few drawn out moments, “This is my uncle,” he supplies eventually.

Uncle? Okay, Stiles has known Derek for more than a year so he obviously knows that Derek has a family, but you know how many times Derek has mentioned his family? Zero. Zilch. Zero. Stiles had taken that to mean it was an off-limit topic, and had very kindly not pushed the subject.

These days, he just imagines Derek lives in a cave and survives on cans of baked beans.

In the time Stiles daydreams about the important differences between baked beans and tinned spaghetti, Derek has made his way to stand directly in front of Peter, his face pressing against his own palm, “Again, really? You know I can’t let you off with a warning this time.”

Somehow that doesn’t seem to bother Peter in the slightest, “Always so diligent, little nephew,” he grins in reply as Derek hauls him up and pulls Peter’s hands behind his back, handcuffing him. Stiles takes step forward, grasping Derek’s forearm.

“Dude, we could…”

“No.” Derek cuts him off swiftly, “This isn’t the first time. He’s been warned multiple times before and I’m taking him in,” Stiles cocks an eyebrow, but agrees with a slow nod. Derek glances at Jess, “Just give her a warning.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the flash of recognition in Derek’s gaze when it comes to Jess, but before he can ask if he knows Jess too, Derek is trudging back across the grass Peter in tow, clearly reading him his rights with every step.

Stiles turns to Jess, only glancing back once at where Derek had just disappeared to as he issues her with an unofficial warning.

 

 

***

 

 

The ride back to the station is… surprisingly uneventful. Peter attempts conversation with Derek twice before Derek’s grunts and or complete lack of answer is hint enough for him to stop.

He tries to engage Stiles a few times, but Derek quickly shuts those attempts down too.

When they arrive, not even Stiles says anything as Derek grinds to a halt, shoves open his door and yanks Peter out from the back seat all in the space of thirty seconds before dragging him inside to be processed. Stiles shuts the back door gently on the his way past.

They only stay long enough for Stiles to hear Peter introduce himself as, “Peter Hale, spelt P for Party, E for Exciting…” because Derek tugs once on his arm roughly as he exits the way they came. Stiles looks back over his shoulder at the Sergeant processing Peter and she looks beyond unimpressed with the man known as Peter Hale.

Stiles just feels confused.

If he had an uncle, he wouldn’t arrest him.

Maybe if he murdered someone.

Okay, definitely if he committed a felony. Or caused some real damage to somebody or something.

Stiles continues the debate with himself all the way back to the car.

 

***

 

“So,” he says, drawing out the ‘o’ and waiting.

“No.”

They’re back in the patrol car, stopped at a traffic light with chatter across the radio filling the square tin that has become Stiles’ home away from home (some days he finds that thought depressing, other days he wonders how long it would take the car to dry if they filled it with water, so he doesn’t get too hung up on it).

Stiles stares at Derek, personally offended by the way his dismissive eyebrows stare back at him more than Derek’s tone. Because, rude. Derek didn’t even know what he was going to say.

“Rude. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Derek huffs a soft breath, sending Stiles the most blatant ‘bitch, please’ look he’s seen in a while. The last time it had even graced Derek’s face was when they had to arrest a car thief clown, who had made it his personal mission to get under Derek’s skin. Stiles had been standing off to the side, thinking of all the clown jokes he could inundate Derek with later, when Derek had cut him off with a sharp, “Don’t even think about it.” Stiles had said he had no idea what he was talking about and… Voilà.

To this day, Stiles is sure that Derek had no idea what he had been plotting, and he’s just as sure that Derek has no idea what he’s going to ask him this time either.

“If you weren’t about to say something with the word Peter in it, I will bake you a cake.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, just the thought of Derek in a kitchen _baking_ making his mind wander, “Well. I was going to say ‘yo, what’s up with your uncle man’,” He fights back a grin when Derek shoots him a sharp look, “I didn’t hear any ‘Peter’ in there, did you?”

“You know what I meant,” Derek grumbles, moving the car forward as the light turns green, “It’s the same thing.”

“Nope,” Stiles pops the ‘p’ just to be an ass, “You said I had to say Peter, and I didn’t. You know what that means?”

“What?” Derek’s tone says he has no idea what it means, but his face tells a completely different story and that he hates it more than life itself.

“You owe me a cake,” Stiles preens, hiding his grin by looking out the side window.

“I hate you.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums with a smile. Stiles might have actually believed that if they were where they were twelve months ago, but they weren’t so he didn’t.

“I hate you too man.”

He didn’t, and now that Derek owed him food, he _really_ didn’t.

 

***

 

It takes him two weeks to actually receive said cake.

Stiles tries to tell Derek it doesn’t count because he didn’t bake it. Derek tries to take back the cake, but Stiles squawks a ‘no’ at him.

He doesn’t share the cake with anyone except Scott.

(If he possibly leaves a sliver of a piece on the edge of the desk Derek was using that day, that's his business.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I swear this is all heading somewhere and next chapter a bit of actual plot will appear (and it will be longer) <3
> 
> You can, as always find me on [tumblr](http://starkology.tumblr.com) if you have any questions or anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Technically, Stiles is only meant to work for a certain amount of hours a week but he’s a cop, a rookie cop and this is real life, so he usually ends up working overtime.

It’s not so serious that he’s a zombie that is utterly useless because he doesn’t get enough sleep, but it’s certainly enough to mess with his personal life.

He doesn’t have any one-day off, he definitely doesn’t get every Sunday off or anything, so it’s kind of hard for him to plan anything for his own enjoyment, like sitting down and playing the week’s newly released game.

So when Scott catches his arm on the way out of the morning debrief and tells him he’s met someone, he can honestly admit he’s dumbfounded. Stiles can barely find time to have a routine that involves getting to watch TV shows semi-frequently, and Scott found time to date someone?

What the actual hell. Is his best friend a unicorn?

“I want you to meet her.” Scott says as Stiles continues to just stare at him. Wait, what. They were already at the stage that he wants to introduce her to Stiles? How long had they been dating, holy crap.

“Uh.” He says, ever the eloquent genius that he is.

Scott steamrolls ahead anyway, “She really wants to meet you too. I was thinking maybe this Saturday?”

Stiles opens his mouth to tell Scott that while he wasn’t rostered on to work this Saturday that means absolutely nothing, but Scott beat him to it, “I know, I know. I just thought we could put it on the books and if it happens, it happens. No harm setting it up, you know?”

And yup, those were puppy dog eyes. He narrows his eyes at Scott, letting him know he was onto him. But, Scott did have a point, so.

“Okay. This Saturday. I’ll meet…”

“Allison. Her name’s Allison.” Oh god, if this was a cartoon then Stiles is one thousand percent sure Scott would have love hearts floating in his eyes right now.

“Right. Allison. Saturday. I’m in.”

He and Derek get called in as extra manpower because apparently, everyone loses their collective shit on the weekend.

Stiles doesn’t meet Allison on Saturday.

He wonders if Scott bribed an angel to have Saturday off.

 

***

 

 

It’s two weeks since Scott brought up the whole meeting Allison thing. Stiles doesn’t like thinking of Allison as some sort of _thing,_ but he sort of does. To him she’s just a name that Scott likes to say. A _lot._

But still, it weighs on his mind. He really does want to meet her, if only to put a personality to the name and face. Scott likes to show him photos of her all the time, spouting on about how beautiful she is and how silky her hair is.

Stiles agrees that she’s is beautiful. He can’t vouch for the silkiness of her hair from photos alone, but he doubts very much that Scott would lie about something like that.

But he wants to _meet_ her.

Two weeks ago, he didn’t really care either way. It makes him sound like a bad friend, but with work piling up and hours of sleep growing shorter, it hadn’t been a high priority. He went to work, he came home and he went to sleep. It wasn’t anything personal against this Allison.

But that was two weeks ago.

He’s been thinking about Scott and Allison quite a lot over the last few days, not if she was good enough for him or anything even close because he trusts his best friend’s judgement.

When Derek returns to the car, burritos in hand, the first thing Stiles says is, “Dude, those smell. The car is going to stink. I’m not cleaning it.”

But the second thing he says is, “Are you dating anyone?”

Derek pauses, burrito hanging mid-air in front of his open mouth before he decides to actually answer, “What?”

“Dating. Are you?”

Derek looks at him, unblinking. Stiles clears his throat and shifts in his seat, beginning to wonder if he’s said something wrong. It seemed like a harmless enough question, but maybe this was an off-limit topic too. Derek had a lot of those.

“No.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to stare, but only for a second before he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Was that a ‘no we’re done with this conversation’ or ‘no I’m not dating anyone’?”

“The latter.”

“Oh.” Stiles sighs, relieved by this information somehow. Derek wasn’t a bad looking guy, at all. Stiles has been present more than a enough times when women and handful of men had referred to him as an Adonis. So Derek could easily get with someone, and that left Stiles thinking about Scott and Allison even more.

“What?” Derek’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, a small frown pulling at his brow.

Stiles sighs, playing with edges of his burrito. “Nothing. It’s just… Scott. He’s dating someone, and I just…”

“Are you jealous?” Derek frowns, confusion passing over his face before his face reverts back to normal - which is to say - blank. 

“What? No!”

Derek wraps his burrito back up, and places it in his lap, as if settling in for what was probably their most personal conversation in eighteen months. He didn’t say anything, but Stiles could tell he was at least open to the idea of talking. The lines around his mouth looked more relaxed or… something.

“I’m not jealous. I’m stumped. Scott and I are exactly the same rank, we’re on the same hours thereabouts and we live together. I don’t exactly care that he’s dating, or even _who_ he’s dating. I’m sure she’s amazing, since Scott chose her. I just can’t work out… _how_ they’re dating. I barely have time to even contemplate going to the cinema, and he’s…”

“Working, and dating.” Derek finishes for him.

“Yeah, exactly.”

An unreadable look passes over Derek’s face, and he sighs. “Scott might be in the same precinct as us, but he doesn’t do the same thing as us all the time.”

Stiles has no idea what Derek is even talking about, and lets him know it by (unusual for him) staying completely silent.

“When the Captain said they needed extra people at that rally last week, who volunteered to go?”

“We did.” Stiles frowns, because they had. Just as he’s about to ask what that has to do with anything right now, Derek speaks.

“No, _you_ did.” Stiles opens his mouth to refute that, but closes it a moment later when he vaguely remembers raising his hand first when the Finstock had asked for people. Maybe Derek didn’t even want to go, Stiles had just assumed.

Derek holds up a hand, and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“For someone so smart, you’re really slow.” Wow, one of the rare compliments from Derek and it’s accompanied by an insult. Typical. “I would have volunteered to go either way. But that’s exactly what it was. Volunteering. We didn’t have to go. We wanted to.”

“So?”

“So…” Derek says slowly, “You’ve volunteered to do extra hours for the past month, pretty much anytime you heard someone asking.”

“And?”

Derek sighs, and picks his burrito back up, unwrapping it. “If you really wanted to date someone, you’d _make_ time like Scott is. You’d do anything to spend some time with them.”

Derek takes a huge bite of his burrito as if the conversation is over, but Stiles disagrees, “This isn’t about me dating.”

“Yes it is.” Derek very helpfully replies.

“I don’t want to date right now. This isn’t about me, I was just curious.” Because he is, he can’t work out the logistics around dating, and Scott… and how they, _oh_. How they apply to him, how _he_ could make it work.

Okay, so maybe Derek has a point. Stiles makes a face at him to show Derek exactly what he thinks of his point.

“Bet you played video games on your last day off.” Derek says far too smugly for Stiles’ liking.

“Shut up. You’re reaching your daily quota of words” He huffs, finally taking a bite of his own burrito.

Derek only grunts, and Stiles takes that to mean he agrees.

“Why aren’t _you_ dating though?” He asks, a minute later.

Derek doesn’t deign to answer him.

 

 

***

 

Stiles had already volunteered for two other things that week, so it’s not like he could just pull out of them. But the next week, he takes a step back from his extracurricular duties and surprises no one by sleeping longer than four hours a night.

He plays video games. He doesn’t tell Derek. Okay, maybe he gloats about reaching the Boss Level on four separate games, but it was important information to share.

He finally meets Allison on a Sunday.

It’s like something from a novel, it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the birds were chirping. None of which were loud enough to block out Scott tripping over his own feet to invite Allison inside their apartment.

She’s even more beautiful in person, and when the sun hits her hair through the window, it really does look like silk and Stiles mirrors the grin plastered on Scott’s face.

He welcomes her with an awkward hug (he’d gone for a handshake, she’d gone for a hug and they met somewhere in the middle).

Stiles high-fives Scott when his friend looks to him for what he can only guess is some kind of approval.

Allison very kindly pretends not to see.

Stiles decides he likes her already.

 

***

  

The second time he sees Allison, it’s at the Fire Station. He’s also with Derek, and he’s on duty.

“You’re a paramedic? How did I not know that?” Something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle comes from beside him, and he glares at Derek and mumbles a half-hearted ‘shut up’ his way.

Allison only smiles, laughing openly. “Last time we met, I remember _someone_ talking almost exclusively about the difference between Stars Wars and Star Trek and if Indiana Jones lived in both worlds, well…”

“Scott brought it up!” He blurts out, indignant for no good reason. They did talk about that and Allison had joined in. A lot of important points were made that night.

She only gives him a knowing look before turning her attention toward Derek.

“Allison Argent.” She greets, holding out a hand. Derek grasps it without hesitation, letting his hand fall back to his side at the same time she withdraws her own.

“Derek Hale. Argent, like the Fire Department Chief?”

“That’s my dad, Chris.”

Stiles looks between the two, waiting for either of them to continue, but when neither do and silence stews between them, he lets out a low whistle.

“Chief, huh? Scott’s dating royalty, Derek. Pretty impressive stuff, don’t you think?”

Allison smiles at him like he’s five years old that just discovered birds have wings, while Derek sighs and retrieves his notepad from his front pocket.

“Shut up, Stiles.” He turns his attention toward Allison, “We’re actually here on official business. We need to talk to…” He glances down at his notepad, and Stiles has no idea why because he knows Derek knows the name of the fire fighter they need to see, “…Vernon Boyd. His name’s come up as a witness to a crime.”

Now Allison was frowning, and Stiles really didn’t need two frowning people around him at the same time. Derek frowned enough for ten people, so.

“Boyd? Is it serious? Sorry, of course it is. If you need him, he’s over by Engine Twelve.” Stiles is incredibly grateful when she points out said truck, because there’s a lot of them and this is a follow up to a serious case of vandalism, and he really doesn’t want to spend the whole day tracking down one firefighter in a tin shed.

They approach the man from behind while he’s playing around with a remote control or something. It looks like a pretty stock standard remote, but Stiles is in no way, shape or form a firefighter, so for all he knows it could be a super high tech gadget that sprout wings and fights fires.

Boyd lifts his hand, and a TV in the corner turns on. Well that answers that question, then. Deep down, Stiles is more than a little disappointed that it wasn’t a fire fighting android, but he pushes through that and clears his throat.

“Vernon Boyd?” The man turns around, confusion crossing his face for a split second before he bestows them with a small, but gentle smile.

“Derek.” Boyd’s gaze flicks to Stiles, “You must be officer Stilinski. Only my mama calls me Vernon.”

“Uh, yeah.” He says slowly, physically fighting the urge to frown because Boyd seems to know Derek, and Stiles has no idea who Boyd is. Instead, he turns his attention to Derek, who has his stupid poker face on. Stiles wants to roll his eyes, and he’s about to ask the obvious when Derek speaks.

“Boyd,” Derek greets the man in return, “You’re listed as a possible witness to the vandalism of the Grand Cinema that happened on the night of the fifteenth. Can you describe to me what you saw?”

Boyd slides his gaze back to Derek, and folds his arms across his chest, amusement lighting his eyes, “Maybe.” Derek pins him with a glare but his face remains stoic otherwise, “Okay, okay. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Whether I like it or not isn’t an issue. It’s my job, and if-..”

“It was Cora… and her friends.”

Stiles can’t say that Derek looks surprised exactly, but he can very definitely say Derek looks angry as hell right now, nostrils flaring and eyebrows trying their hardest to reach the rest of his face.

“What.”

Boyd only releases a soft sigh and shrugs, “She asked for a favour, man.”

A favour, huh. Some favour, Stiles had seen the damage to the Grand. He fiddles with the pen in his hand for a second before he presses it to the page, “I’m going to need this Cora’s full name.”

“I think you’re going to want to catch up to Derek first.” Boyd gestures beyond Stiles’ shoulder by jutting out his chin. Stiles only turns his head when a glance to the side reveals that yes Derek has already stalked away. He spins on his heel, moving to follow after his partner.

“It was nice to meet you Stiles!” Boyd calls out just as Stiles exits.

He catches up to Derek easily enough, but waits until they’re in the car before asking him what the hell is going on.

“What was that, and who the hell is Cora?”

Derek tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white, “Cora Hale. My sister.”

Oh. Stiles had seen the cinema after it had been vandalised… it hadn’t been pretty, and there had been _at least_ ten thousand dollars worth of damage. The owner had to close down his business for a week to fix the damage.

This is a serious case and while Stiles doesn’t know Cora, he’s already feeling sorry for her if Derek gets his hands on her.

“Oh.” He says softly, “And Boyd?”

Derek cuts his gaze across to him and looks genuinely confused by Stiles’ curiosity, like he hadn’t just been all chummy (or as chummy as Derek seems to get) with the guy.

“Yeah. I’m asking. You seemed to know each other.” And you don’t _know_ people, he adds silently.

Derek’s face doesn’t change for a few seconds, but then he shrugs and starts up the engine with a twist of the key, “He’s my roommate.” He admits easily, which is a feat all in itself.

Stiles spends the next whole hour poking Derek for information about Cora. He doesn’t find out much more than she’s his younger sister. Derek _does_ grudgingly admit that Boyd isn’t only his roommate, but his best friend as well.

 

 

***

 

Stiles kind of assumes they will pick up Cora from her house. As she’s only seventeen, according to the information in the police database, he assumes they’ll go to pick her up from her parent’s house.

He even got his hopes up that he’d get to meet Derek’s parents; see where the brooding mass that is his partner comes from but it wasn’t meant to be.

Derek destroys any chance of that when he pulls up out the front of a high school. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday, so Stiles supposes it makes more sense than anything. But still.

Derek is first out of the car but he doesn’t move far, only going to rest against the hood of the car and folding his arms across his chest. Stiles joins him opting to sit on the hood completely. He’ll take any opportunity to stay sitting for those extra few minutes and he can hardly wait in the car while Derek is glaring daggers at a fence, now can he.

“How long have you known Boyd?” He knows he’s not going to get an answer about Cora, so he doesn’t even bother wasting precious air on it. Derek gives him a look that says he can see straight through Stiles, but he opens his mouth regardless.

“Since the academy. He trained for a couple of months before he moved on to ‘bigger, better things’.” Stiles can practically hear the quotation marks around that, “Just never lost touch with him after that.” Derek’s features relax, and Stiles cheers on the inside.

Stiles hears the school bell ring in the distance, but Derek makes no effort to move, so neither does he. It’s not _his_ sister that they are here to arrest. While Stiles wants to ask if Derek is okay, he knows he’ll only be shut down before he can even utter the first two syllables of a sentence about it.

He knows Derek is a professional and he’s going to stick with that. The guy arrested his own uncle for a misdemeanour crime that most other officer’s would have ignored, so? Stiles had no doubt that while it might be a weird situation, Derek could totally deal.

“I see you finally met Allison.” Derek says softly and the change of topic throws Stiles for a second but he nods in response, “Finally made the time, and you talked about Star Wars.”

Stiles scoffs because no they had not _talked_ about Star Wars. They had very heated and passionate words about the greatest movies in the world. Big difference, “Whatever. What’s your point?”

“No point.” Derek says softly, unfolding his arms and pushing his weight off the hood, “Just making conversation.”

Yeah, right. Stiles slides off the hood, following Derek as he heads toward the school gate, “So this is where your sister goes to school, huh?”

Derek doesn’t glance at him, he doesn’t even turn his head when he speaks, “I don’t like Star Trek, and I hate Star Wars. I guess Indiana Jones is okay,” and he shrugs, like that was an acceptable sentence to ever leave anyone’s lips.

Stiles splutters to a stop, scoffing loudly a moment later, before opening his mouth and scoffing once again, “I can’t- I don’t even know where to start. He’s _okay?_ He’s- You don’t _like_ Star Wars, I, what- how can anyone hate Star Trek?” He rushes to catch up to Derek, who had barely slowed his pace.

It’s only when he catches up that he sees a small smile tugging at the corners of Derek’s mouth. It disappears when he sees Stiles notice it.

“You’re totally messing with me, you absolute asshole.”

A soft sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh comes from, even more suspiciously, Derek’s direction, “Maybe.”

Stiles _knew_ no one could really hate Star Wars.

Derek comes to an abrupt stop beside him. When Stiles tears his gaze away from Derek, he sees a teenage girl standing in the centre of the path ahead, and he can only conclude that this is Cora Hale.

“ _Derek?_ ” She frowns, and cool good to know it’s not a Derek exclusive thing seemingly, “What are you doing here? Is mom okay?”

“I’m here on official business.” He doesn’t wait for her reply as he keeps going, “Where were you on the night of the fifteenth?”

Cora doesn’t move a muscle, and her frown stays firmly in place on her brow. Stiles feels like he’s at an eyebrow Olympic event, but now’s not the time to imagine Derek’s eyebrows going for a high dive, which… actually, they kind of already were trying to escape down his face.

“Where were you?” it sounds different somehow. It sounds off, but he can’t quite place why.

Cora still doesn’t move, but her brow does relax, “Nowhere. Chilling with friends.”

This felt like the beginning to an argument that Stiles didn’t really want to hear and Derek’s sister or not, this was his job so he speaks over Derek repeating what he’d just said. “We’ve received information that you were present when the Grand Cinema was vandalised.

Cora flicks her gaze toward Stiles, the edges of her mouth pulling down before she returns her attention back to Derek, “I didn’t break anything.”

Derek looks completely stunned, and momentarily unable to even process her words. Okay then, maybe Derek hadn’t quite believed Boyd after all. Stiles takes over in the tense silence, asking gently, “So you admit you were present when the vandalism occurred?”

She doesn’t look at Stiles this time, staring intently at Derek.

“Derek, it’s not… it wasn’t some random act of rebellion.”

Stiles joins the stare party, because does she really think that makes a difference right now, with thousands of dollars in damages and an incredibly angry owner. Stiles glances at Derek, who looks equally, if not more unimpressed than Stiles.

Time passes slowly, and when it gets to the point where Derek isn’t taking lead, and is very visibly struggling to physically take a step towards his sister, Stiles decides to take the reigns.

“Cora Hale, I need you to keep your hands in full view and turn around slowly.” He says slowly, only glancing at Derek once to gauge… he doesn’t know what. Not approval, because this is happening either way, but… something.

Cora looks unhappy, if that can even describe what’s happening with her face, “Derek what the hell, I’m your _sister_.”

Stiles gets that Cora is Derek’s sister, he might not have any of his own actual siblings, but he gets family okay. But this wasn’t just some teenage graffiti, it was heavy damage to the outside of the cinema and the complete destruction of the building’s interior.

And Cora had very clearly just admitted to being there, they couldn’t ignore that.

Stiles takes a moment, taking the time to pick his words carefully before opening his mouth, “I know what I said about your uncle when you arrested him, and I don’t mean this personally, but this is different. This involves other people, and someone’s livelihood.”

Derek continues to look at Cora for a few long moments, but just when Stiles is genuinely starting to worry that Derek is going to tell him to turn a blind eye to this, Derek turns to him and gives a short nod.

Stiles wasn’t actually waiting for permission, but he’s still glad to receive it. He’s also taken aback by the sadness that fills Derek’s eyes when he nods. Cora gapes at Derek as Stiles approaches her with handcuffs. As he pats her down carefully for any hidden weapons, he avoids looking at Derek.

  
He’s doing the right thing, even if it makes him feel he’s betraying his partner.

It’s only when Stiles snaps the handcuffs in place behind her back and gives her a gentle push forward that Cora’s shocked silence is broken.

“Derek! I’m serious, it’s not what you think!”

Stiles takes the opportunity to read her the Miranda rights, but she only speaks over him.

“The owner is a total bigot! He won’t let anyone he thinks is gay inside the building, and…” She tugs hard on the grip Stiles had on her arms, “if they do enter, he refuses to serve them, he’s gotten violent before Derek! It was just… what else were we meant to do?”

Derek’s eerie silence snaps like a twig, and he turns on her, “You come to me, Cora! You don’t break the law. You call _me_.” Cora drops her gaze and remains silent as Stiles helps her into the backseat of the car.

They’re half way back to base when she mumbles, “I just wanted to teach him a lesson.” Stiles glances in the rear mirror at her and can only liken her expression to a kicked puppy.

Derek continues giving her the silent treatment.

It’s not the most awkward car ride he’s ever had, but it’s damn close.

 

***

 

 Derek waits outside when Stiles takes Cora in to say hello to the desk sergeant. Cora hasn’t said a word since her last admission, but she answers all the sergeant’s questions easily enough and signs her name, throwing down the pen when she’s done.

The sergeant is leading her back toward the cells when Cora pauses and turns to look at Stiles with a crooked smile, “Nice meeting you, Stiles.”

“It was… something.” He mutters, because he’s not sure what else to say.

When he returns to the car park, Derek greets him with a smile Stiles hasn’t seen before; it’s neither teasing nor happy, which leaves Stiles shrugging apologetically in response. It’s probably the worst apology he’s ever given someone in his entire life, but he’d never arrested anyone’s sister before either. This was new and unchartered territory for him.

It’s only then that that it really hits him at what he’d done exactly. Oh, god. Cora could potentially be facing jail time for this, and he’d been the one to arrest her.

What was he meant to say to Derek? Sorry? It was my job? Both seem too wooden for the situation for Stiles’ liking.

He slides into his usual place beside Derek in the car, sure that the rest of the day is going to be awkward as hell, but Derek doesn’t start the car, instead he turns to Stiles. He doesn’t look angry, so mayb-

“Thanks.”

Stiles stays quiet, because this is unknown territory with Derek.

“I couldn’t… no, I could. But I didn’t want to, so thank you.”

Stiles doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle with the decision of remaining true to the law that you serve, or the sister that you obviously adore, but somehow… he gets what Derek’s saying.

“Don’t worry about it. I know that when my dad decides retirement is as boring as I’ve been telling him and he robs a bank, you’ll totally have my back dude.”

There’s moment of horror when he thinks it might be too soon, but a second later Derek’s lips twitch upwards, so he counts it as a win.

 

 

***

 

 

 The next morning in the locker room, he greets Derek with a half-assed salute.  Derek’s fingers twitch as if he’s about to return the gesture, but ultimately his hands stay stationary, and he only nods in response.

“Heard anything about Cora?”

Derek takes it for what it is and nods once again, before picking up his gun and holstering it next to the pepper spray on his belt. Stiles sighs, because really, he thought they’d gotten at least a little past the whole one-sided conversation thing.

“And?”

Derek doesn’t stop or even slow down as he continues to put the final touches on his uniform, “Released after a couple of hours. She’s waiting to hear about a court date.” He says, sitting down on the bench.

Stiles turns his back to Derek as he opens his own locker to retrieve his uniform, and tosses the shirt he was wearing into his locker. Just as he’s pulling his uniform shirt on, he feels Derek’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his skull, but when he turns around to see what’s up, Derek is looking at his deodorant with an intense stare.

“What’s up?” He asks, tucking his top into his pants before doing up his belt buckle.

“I don’t want it to be… weird.” Derek tells his deodorant bottle.

“You’re making it weird by having a conversation with a bottle instead of me.” Stiles huffs, as he shuts his locker and swipes the deodorant from Derek’s hands.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Stiles admits softly, putting the deodorant back down not sure why he took it in the first place.

When Derek doesn’t say anything, Stiles drops down beside him on the bench, “There’s no way it’s not going to be weird dude. I arrested your sister and-“

“Because I didn’t.”

“What?” Because, what? “Is that why you’re all?” He gestures to all of Derek, and Derek looks at him, unimpressed.

“I didn’t do my job. It was- She’s my little sister, I just-“

“Good.” Stiles cuts him short with much more fervour than he’d intended, then thinks better of it and rubs a hand through his hair, “Good because you’re not a robot, dude.” He leans back until his back hits the locker door behind him, his voice getting softer, “So you didn’t arrest her, and I understand why. I really do. If my dad, or Scott ever… I don’t know what I’d do. I’d like to say I would or wouldn’t arrest them, but I can’t because I don’t know.”

He releases a soft breath of air, pushing forward to rest his elbows on his legs, “I thought about it last night, and it’s not black and white. We can’t just turn off family, and I know I haven’t been doing this as long as you, but I’m already finding it hard not to bring every part of the law into my life. Cora did something bad, something we couldn’t turn a blind eye to, and… you didn’t.”

Stiles nudges Derek with his shoulder gently, aiming for some kind of reaction because the guy had become like a cardboard cut-out since Stiles started speaking.

“It’s hard.” Derek says softly a moment later, “The balance, I mean. You’ll get there, it just takes practice. I used to want to arrest my parents for jaywalking when I was a rookie.”

Stiles barks a laugh before he can stop himself, because that is definitely something he can see Derek doing, “I’m not that bad. But this also isn’t about me…” He trails off, giving Derek an opening he hopes he’ll take.

“I know.” Derek sighs, and then says nothing for what feels like minutes, “I felt like I let you down. And myself.”

Stiles frowns, because he can’t think of any good reason that Derek could even think that, “What, why?”

Derek lets out a harsh breath, “What if she had been armed, what if wasn’t vandalism, what if she’d had a weapon pointed at you and I froze?”

“I… don’t even know what to say to that. She wasn’t, and she didn’t?” He scrubs his hand through his hair once again. When he’d walked into the locker room this morning, yeah he’d expected them to maybe talk about what had gone down if Derek felt up to it, but he hadn’t even imagined getting into… whatever this was.

“You don’t get it.” Derek sighs, obviously frustrated.

“Yeah, because you’re not explaining anything.” Stiles says, suddenly feeling equally as frustrated as Derek looks.

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knows Derek is up and out the door, leaving Stiles staring after him with no idea of what the hell just happened.

The rest of the day is different. Not in the sense that they aren’t pulling people over for erratic driving, or questioning persons of interest on a corner where they most likely sold drugs two minutes before Derek and Stiles showed up.

But they’re different. Derek’s different, and it’s messing with Stiles. He and Derek might not get along all the time, or see eye to eye on everything, but they’ve been partners for a while now. So when your partner starts acting out of the ordinary from every other day, it sends a guy out of whack.

Stiles is no different, and he’s completely stumped when Derek reverts back to acting how he did the first day they met. A complete asshole, basically. He doesn’t really pay much attention to Stiles for most of their shift. Their lunch break is silence served with a side of silence for that extra goodness. Hell, when they return to the station at the end of shift, Derek is in and out before Stiles even gets in the showers.

When he gets home that night, he sits alone on the couch with his phone, contemplating the small device. He has Derek’s number, he’s had it since their first shift.

Derek hadn’t looked all that happy about it when he’d first handed over the number, but with their line of work, it’s almost a safety requirement to have another line of communication with your partner that doesn’t rely on the radio channels.

Why he got it isn’t important, it was important that he had it now.

But he’s hesitant to use the number, because Derek had very clearly told him to “never use it for anything but work, or I’ll kill you”. Stiles’ fingers hover over the keypad… this _was_ about work.

He’s working up the courage to face Derek’s wrath when Scott arrives home from his shift, the poor guy doesn’t even get a chance to put his bag down before Stiles ambushes him with questions.

“Hypothetically, If Isaac was somebody- no, if Isaac acted a certain way for a year and a half and then something happened, involving you and you thought you’d done something wrong, but then he thanked you for it, but then the next day he acted really weird, like… threw off your whole partnership, what would you do..?”

He takes a well-deserved breath, and looks at Scott expectantly. Scott flops down on the couch beside him and sighs softly, “Is this about Derek?”

“Yes, maybe- no, this is _hypothetical._ ”

Scott nods slowly and makes himself comfortable against the corner of the couch, “Okay, _hypothetically,_ is this about Derek?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, because that’s cheating, but he replies nonetheless, “Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“Um, arrested his sister?”

Scott stares at him, and Stiles can tell he has so much to say about it that he’s more than a little overwhelmed.

“Before you say anything…” He explains it all to Scott, from when they were called to the cinema about the vandalism all the way up to Derek being an ass today, “It’s weird.”

“Yeah, it’s… odd, but you didn’t do anything wrong either. He thanked you, so… call him.” Scott says, taking Stiles’ phone from his grip and waving it in front of his face.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs and takes back his phone, spinning it in his fingers as he thinks.

“I’m heading to bed.” Scott gets up after another minute of Stiles playing with his phone without actually unlocking it, “If you don’t call him, then at least sort it out tomorrow before your shift okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He waves goodnight to Scott as he heads into his room, leaving Stiles alone with his phone again. This time he gets as far as opening Derek’s contact information, his thumb hovering over the small call button.

It remains there for too long, and he finds himself pressing it down on the icon of the envelope. A text will be less intrusive, he decides.

It takes him longer than should be possible to compose a message of only seven words, but when he’s gotten to the point where the message in front of him doesn’t make him cringe, he hits send.

**_we need 2 talk, 2nite or 2moro._ **

It doesn’t take long for Derek to reply, Stiles is only just contemplating going to his bedroom when his phone buzzes and flashes an unread message.

**_I know. Tomorrow._ **

Stiles switches his phone off and heads to bed.

They’d talk tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the next chapter is finally here *^* I hope you enjoy it <3
> 
> I don't know when the next one will be up since I'm in the process of moving out and shooting a short film, but I'll try to have it up ASAP.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd. I hope there aren't any major mistakes, but if there is, please let me know. :D

It’s no surprise that Derek is in the locker room before him in the morning on every other day, so it’s no surprise that he’s there early again today.

They both change into their uniforms first, without much talking at all. It’s only when Derek sits down on the bench behind him that Stiles is sure they’re going to have this ‘talk’ at all.

Stiles sits down on the bench beside him, and waits impatiently, unable to stop himself from fidgeting with his fingers. Weirdly, it feels like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office in high school.

“My first partner was the worst partner anyone could have,” Derek’s voice isn’t loud, but after so much quiet for so long, it sounds like it’s filling the whole room. Just the sound of Derek’s voice is enough for some of the tension set in Stiles’ shoulders to fade.

“He never had my back,” Derek continues, not noticing (or choosing to ignore) Stiles’ nervous aura, “…a couple of times he completely abandoned me on the job.”

“Derek—“

“I know I’m not him, so don’t say it but yesterday, it just- it messed with me, because I froze. It doesn’t matter that she’s family – no, it does, but the point is we should never freeze, no matter what the situation is, because that one second can be the difference between life and death.”

Stiles looks at Derek, both eyebrows raised high on his head, because…

“Wow… when you decide to go there, you really go from zero to one hundred, don’t you.” Stiles takes a breath, thinking over his words because this is the most Derek has ever opened up in the year and a half that he’s known the guy, “I know you said not to say it, but I’m going to, you’re not your old partner. I don’t even know who that was, but they sound like an asshole so good riddance. Secondly, you didn’t let me down. What the hell? She’s your sister, and like I was trying to tell you yesterday you’re not a robot. You’re only human, Derek.”

Derek scowls at him, “I know I’m human, you idiot. I overreacted, okay?”

“Yeah, you did. But don’t be so hard on yourself about it. If anything, I thought I had, I don’t know, screwed us up.” Stiles inwardly cringes at referring to them as an ‘us’, like this was more than just a work relationship. 

“It’s too weird for your partner to arrest your sister,” he continues, glad that Derek has decided now isn’t a good time for eye contact, “…but apparently I’ve opened up some kind of flood gate to...” he trails off, leaving the ‘whatever this is’ unspoken.

Derek’s scowl is attempting to take over his face again, but Stiles keeps going, “I like it.” He says, then decides the room has been serious for way too long already, “I told you, I know you’ve got my back when dad robs a bank. I hope you know I’ve got yours too.”

Okay, not as light-hearted as he’d been aiming for, but whatever.

“This isn’t a joke.”

Stiles gives him a stiff nod.

They each stand and return their attention to their respective lockers without saying a word, even though they’re dressed and ready to go, but… the silence is comfortable. 

They’re walking through the station when one of them finally speaks again, and weirdly enough it’s Derek.

“I do.” He says, not actually looking at Stiles.

“You do what?”

“Know you have my back.” Now he’s looking at Stiles as they walk through the station side by side, “I’ve known since the second week.”

Stiles stops and gapes at Derek as he continues to move forward away from Stiles, like he hasn’t just dropped a feelings bomb, “Well you could have clued me in on that!” He calls out, walking fast to catch up to his partner, “I thought you hated me half the time.”

This time it’s Derek that slows his pace, and Stiles matches his speed until they’re both standing still in the middle of the station, “I don’t hate you.” Derek says and heads out of the station.

Stiles grins from ear to ear, and welcomes the warmth that swells in his chest.

 

**

 

The third time he sees Allison without Scott in tow, is also his second time seeing Boyd.

He and Derek are eating pizza at a tiny take-a-way store when the radios on their shoulders buzz to life, and as soon as the words ‘possible fatalities’ come through, they’re both on their feet rushing back to the car, slices of pizza forgotten, their fingers still greasy as they heave open the squad cars doors.

They barely say three words on their way to the incident – a two car collision, is what the radio is telling them – and when they do arrive, they both jolt out of the vehicle and rush toward the growing crowd of people in the middle of the street.

They aren’t the first ones on the scene; there are two ambulances, and a fire engine among the three other squad cars. Derek snaps at him to get the people that are starting to get closer to an over turned car, but Stiles is already halfway there.

He spares a glance toward the two fire fighters on the ground, only their legs visible as another one winds up the Jaws of Life.

“Alright guys,” he addresses the twenty or so people when he’s right in front of them, and holds his arms out to the side, “I’m not going to bullshit you and tell you there’s nothing to see here-“

“There’s a girl stuck in the back!” one of the women cries out at him, and he almost can’t stop himself from looking back at the wreck.

“You aren’t helping,” he says loudly, taking what he hopes is a threatening step toward the crowd, “You’re all in the way, and I need you to clear the area so we can do our jobs.” he says it calmly, despite having to raise his voice by the end to be louder than another woman trying to talk over him and shove her phone in his face, “Everyone-“

“Everyone take ten steps back!” Booms Derek from directly behind him coming to stand next to him a moment after. He feels another person come up on his other side, and when he glances left he sees Scott.

They don’t link arms, and Stiles doesn’t suddenly feel invincible, but it feels like they’ve created some kind of wall at least. The ratio is still off, but with Stiles in the middle, and Derek and Scott on the edges of the crowd, when Scott tells the people to take ten steps back, they take ten steps back.

“Now take another ten.” Stiles waves the crowd back with both hands, and they do again and now they’re getting somewhere. 

When Derek says, “Now keep walking until you’re no longer here, or in the way,” they pretty much ignore him, but they’re far enough back from the car now that the paramedics can get close and easily manoeuvre themselves.

When Stiles gets the chance to look back over his shoulder, he can see the little girl being pulled out of the back seat, and when he glances up at the faces of the paramedics treating her, and the fire fighter, strapping her to the stretcher, he sees Allison, a red haired woman, and Boyd.

Allison and the red head rush back to the ambulance with the girl, but Boyd remains.

It’s another hour before he’s able to take his eyes off the crowd he’s meant to be controlling. An hour later, both ambulances are gone with patients in tow, and the crowds are beginning to disperse by themselves.

It’s another hour after that when they clear the debris from the road and he’s able to say something to Boyd, who has hung around to help with the bigger chunks of car that littered the road.

“Hey,” is what he goes with when he sidles up beside the fire fighter. Boyd looks as tired as Stiles feels and Stiles is exhausted, “Good job out there.”

It’s the polite thing to say, but Stiles means it. If Boyd was the one that helped pull the girl out, then that means he was also one of the fire fighters that had almost their whole bodies inside the car, most likely trying to calm the girl down, or do something if she wasn’t so conscious. Stiles isn’t sure he could handle doing that.

“Thanks,” Boyd mutters, but it’s not unkind. 

A hand lands on Stiles’ shoulder and twists around to see who it is. He doesn’t need to turn far, because Derek comes to stand right beside him, his hand still on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“We still have five hours to go,” Stiles says instead of hello, and it hits him that he has no idea if anyone even survived the crash. It must show on his face in some way, because even though Derek looks like his usual grumpy self, he gives Stiles’ shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I told them to keep me updated about survivors,” the ‘and fatalities’ remains unspoken.

He nods and Derek’s hand leaves his arm. Stiles actually misses the warmth and comforting pressure of it for a fleeting moment.

“You have cheese on your shirt,” Boyd says, and even though he’s blatantly looking down at Derek’s shirt Stiles looks down at his own. There’s no cheese there and Boyd chuckles, “You ate at Antonio’s.”

Even though Stiles had believed Derek when he’d said Boyd was his best friend, Stiles hadn’t really believed him on some level because he didn’t even talk about Boyd a quarter as much as Stiles talked about Scott.

But Boyd was showing off how much he really knew about Derek because yes they had been eating at Antonio’s.

“I told you I was there while I was there. Don’t pretend to be Sherlock Holmes.”

Oh.

Wait.

Stiles very distinctly remembers Derek doing nothing with his phone, unless he had been texting under the table.

Which… okay, that’s exactly what he had been doing. And what the hell, Derek knows who Sherlock Holmes is and referenced him correctly.

“You text?” he blurts out instead of flailing his arms around, and receives the same look from both Derek and Boyd for his effort.

“Derek texts…” Boyd says slowly, like Stiles is more than a little bit of an imbecile.

“I’m not talking about updates from work, or an ‘OK’ when I forward him a text from Finstock about work.”

Boyd’s face doesn’t change, and just when Stiles thinks he’s about to be called an idiot Boyd just laughs, “He texts,” and the bastard walks away.

“Hurry up,” Derek snaps as he walks off in the opposite direction, and Stiles follows after him.

That night he receives a text from an unknown number that reads, This is… 

Stiles waits a whole ten seconds for the next part, and when it doesn’t come, he sends back a very impatient, Who??

 **Boyd. D gave me your number.** Comes the reply.

Stiles vaguely wonders if Derek calls Boyd ‘B’ as he saves the number to his phone.

His phone beeps a minute later and flashes a message from Derek, **No fatalities. Minor injuries only.**

Stiles can’t stop the smile that tugs at the edges of his lips as he replies.

**

A whole week passes before Stiles actually builds up the nerve to use Derek’s number to text him about something that is in no way related to their job. Their relationship had been different since their heart-to-heart in the locker room; Derek hadn’t suddenly become Smiles McGee, and Stiles can’t place what exactly is different, but it’s different. Better different.

Stiles likes better different. 

**r u free on friday?** Stiles looks over the words once more before pressing send.

It takes ten minutes for Derek to reply.

**You know I am, we both have the day off.**

**Oh you’re one of those people that types out every word and comma. I can play that game too.** He quickly hits send, then realises he didn’t address anything about Friday, so he adds, **You could have other plans.**

 **I don’t. Why?** Comes the reply less than a five seconds later. Okay, so Derek texts and he texts fast. Who knew!

He starts to type, but deletes more than half the message when he remembers he’s never actually invited Derek to anything that has nothing to do with work, so he starts again.

 **Scott wants to have a bbq. You’re invited.** He hits send before he can stare at the words and scrutinise them to the point of never replying to Derek. But before he can second-guess that decision, his phone dings.

 **Barbecue* I thought you were playing along.** He looks down at the text and shakes his head with a silly smile on his face, because really? He’s only just started to reply when his phone beeps again, **What time is it?**

Stiles knows Derek is asking what time the barbeque is, but he’s enjoying himself, so when he replies with the current time he’s more than pleased with himself. Especially when he receives Derek reply calling him an ass.

 **The BARBECUE starts at midday. Bring grilled wolf.**

Stiles imagines Derek walking into the station with a wolf thrown over his shoulders, and snorts a laugh at the thought.

**Okay.**

Stiles waits, and waits some more for the rest of the answer, but when nothing comes he looks up from his phone at Derek on the other side of the room at a desk (with a computer!)

 **That’s it?** He sends after a few more minutes of waiting.

 **I’m working, Stiles.** Stiles frowns at the answer, unhappy with that response. He’s working too, on paper work. Five minutes ago, Derek had been working and he could still reply, but now- **Switch your phone to silent at least, idiot.**

Oh.

He turns his phone on silent before replying, **Do my paperwork for me.**

**NO.**

Stiles glances up at Derek, and has to stifle a laugh into the back of his hand at the murderous glare Derek is giving his phone right now. 

**I’ll pay you?**

**There’s not enough money in the world.**

**Who said anything about money?** He taps send because he’s in the groove of back and forth texting, but when he looks back at his reply he realises it sounds flirty if you squint hard enough. Derek glares a lot so squinting would be second nature to him. 

He doesn’t even want to look over the other side of the room, in case Derek’s looking back at him.

His phone buzzes not long after his minor freak out with Derek’s reply. He hesitates over opening it, but eventually decides to go for broke.

**What will you pay me with?**

**Pork ribs.** He replies without even thinking, which is usually the worst ide-

**… What if I don’t like ribs?**

**What DO you like?**

He just so happens to look up from his phone and over at Derek at the time that Derek does the same. Stiles tilts his head, unsure what the look that passes over Derek’s face means, but before he can read further into it, his phone buzzes.

**Pork ribs are fine. I accept this payment.**

Stiles knows for a fact that Scott isn’t planning to have any pork at the barbecue, so he shoots him a quick text telling him to get some when he goes hunting in the supermarket. When his phone buzzes again, he assumes it’s from Scott, but when he glances at the screen he sees it’s from Derek.

**Still not doing your paperwork.**

**BUT RIBS. DEREK. WE HAD A DEAL!**

He doesn’t receive a reply, but when he looks over at the desk Derek had been occupying and finds it empty, he figures Derek probably thought it required no reply.

It makes his heart sink, because he was really enjoying their back and forth. Sue him. He was allowed to.

“Why are you texting me at work?” A very low, distinctive voice says far too close to his ear for his liking. 

Stiles swivels his chair around and comes face to face with Derek. When the hell had he made his way over here without Stiles even seeing him? The man wanted to give him a heart attack.

“To invite you, to the uh barbecue?”

“I mean, why are you inviting me via text instead of asking me in person.” Stiles is more than aware that their shift started three hours ago, and he’s had ample time to ask Derek any number of times throughout the morning, but no moment felt like the right time. 

“It’s a whole new electronic world, old man,” he says in the end, and when Derek’s lips become thinner on his face he decides that just won’t do and keeps going, “Fine, I didn’t want to fill out this incident report?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Stiles looks over the half-finished report in front of him before he shoots Derek with a look of confusion, “Does anyone want to fill out reports?” He asks, because do they, but he soon gets back on point, “I’m telling you they don’t, and I don’t.”

That answer seems to at least appease Derek, because he says, “Greenberg does,” a moment later.

“Greenberg doesn’t count,” because he doesn’t. The guy comes in a whole hour early just get his paperwork in order, and he stays behind an extra hour at the end of shift to fix it some more. He’s obviously not human, and as such does not count.

“Why did you text me?” 

Stiles thought they were done with that, but nope obviously not, “Oh my god. I was bored, the incident report was ripping out my soul,. I just- I wanted to.” 

It feels like an admission of something else, so he speeds on ahead, not letting Derek speak.

“The light was hitting the eastern wall at the right time. You know how it is.”

He doesn’t mention the not so subtle text he had received from Scott urging him to just get it over with, because Stiles is an adult.

Derek rests back on his heel as he looks down at him with his head tilting to the side a fraction. Stiles has become used to Derek’s stare, but right now he feels like he’s being analysed and it leaves him feeling like he should be doing something with his hands, or just-

Derek nods after a few moments, as if he’s happy with whatever is happening in his head, and then he turns to leave.

“You replied though,” Stiles says, barely giving Derek time to take two steps. It’s not like it hadn’t occurred to him before, but defending his actions had seemed more important a few minutes ago.

Derek doesn’t turn around when he says, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

If that isn’t permission to text Derek whenever he wants, he doesn’t know what is.

**

“Stiles, I swear to god.”

“What?”

“Stop. Texting. Me.”

“I’m just giving you updates on the barbecue.”

“Stiles. I’m sitting right next to you.”

“So?”

Derek may or may not shove his head against the car’s steering wheel a few times.

“Dude, you’re gonna get brain damage!”

Stiles thinks he hears Derek darkly mutter, “Maybe that’s for the best.” But he can’t be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. hi! I know I haven't posted an update to this in forever, and I'm really sorry about that. D:
> 
> Just a short update this time around, but I hope it's apology enough for leaving the last chapter on a cliff-hanger.
> 
> I don't think this chapter required any warnings for triggers and the like, but if you see anything please let me know! (Same for previous and future chapters)
> 
> Please feel free to come and visit me over on tumblr @eamesly if you have any questions or just want to chat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. If you see any major issues, please let me know because I probably missed something.
> 
> There is a very, very brief (it's mentioned in very casual passing) mention of a panic attack in this chapter.

It’s nine o’clock in the morning when Scott peers his head into Stiles’ room and grins.  
  
“Dude, get up.”  
  
Stiles wasn’t planning to wake up until at least eleven, so he glares at Scott, “Why? It’s nine o’clock on my day off, I’m comfortable and it’s nine o’clock on my day off and I should  _still be sleeping._ ”

Scott doesn’t even bat an eye, “Allison’s here.”

His best friend is an awful, horrible, very bad person.

“Awesome, but I love my bed more.”

“She’s about to finish your Call of Duty game,” and the bastard shuts the door. Stiles sits up quickly and gapes at the photo of him and Scott on the back of said door.  
  
Not. Cool.  
  
He rolls out of bed, throws on something that resembles clothes and trudges out to the living room, completely ready to throw a dirty sock at Allison’s head.

What he finds is the television off, and no one in the room. What he hears is hushed laughter coming from the kitchen. When he enters the kitchen, Scott and Allison turn to look at him, both with salad servers in their hands.  
  
“Call of Duty, huh,” He glares at Scott, already missing the warmth of his bed.  
  
“Sorry man”

Scott says as Alison says, “I finished Scott’s," at the same time.  _Something_ happens between them before she kisses Scott’s cheek.  
  
“I can’t deal with couples this early,” he mutters and rests against the door jam.  
  
“We’re making salad, for the barbecue,” Scott says like it explains everything. Like it’s reason enough  _to wake Stiles up early on his day off, damn it._  
  
“Did I say I can’t deal with couples? Because what I meant to say was I can’t deal with salads this early.”  
  
“Dude, you’re usually up at five. It’s ni-“  
  
“It’s different on days off, you know that,” and if it sounds like a whine then whatever. Scott just beams at him.  
  
“We’re making salad,” he repeats, “We kind of forgot to buy the bread yesterday, so can you go get some,” Stiles opens his mouth to say hell no, I’m going back to bed for a couple of hours, but Scott continues, “Please?”  
  
He closes his mouth. It’s the please that does it. Not the puppy dog eyes that follow it, Stiles tells himself, “ _Fine_. Okay. Shower first, though,” and he walks out before Scott can say another word.  
  
It takes him twenty minutes to get out the door, and when he does Scott calls out, “Enough for eight people, remember!”

 

**

  
He doesn’t even think about the fact he has no idea who four of those eight people are until he’s standing in the bread aisle. He has no idea how a barbecue with him, Scott, Allison, Isaac and Derek became eight people, but technically it’s Scott’s barbecue, so he’s going to assume they’re friends of his.

He hopes.

Oh god, what if Scott has taken up inviting homeless people over again?  
  
When he left the apartment at nine-thirty, he had expected to return to it by eleven at the latest. Thanks to traffic, the bread aisle only having one loaf left which sent him to another supermarket to get another three loaves, and then more traffic, he doesn’t actually get back until twelve-thirty.  
  
By then, most of the guests have arrived. By most, he means Isaac, blonde woman, Boyd, red haired woman, brown haired guy with duck lips and of course Scott and Allison.  
  
The first thing he notices is, Derek’s not here and Derek is always punctual, so that’s weird.  
  
The second thing he makes note of is Boyd is here, and he has  _no_  idea why.  
  
“Uh…” He says, intelligence and quick thinking shining through, “Hi. Hello… everyone?”  
  
Their amused smiles greet him. He decides to dump the bags of bread in the kitchen before dealing with all the new faces, and Scott comes with him.  
  
“You took a whi-“  
  
“Who  _are_ most of these people?” he asks, cutting Scott off.  
  
Before he gets an answer, there’s a knock on the door and Scott’s leaving the room, telling those in the living room that, “it must be Derek.”

Like everyone knows who Derek is, apparently.

He looks out into the living room and sees Derek standing at the front door and Derek looks really…  _odd,_ in their apartment in casual clothes and holding a bowl of food. He also sees Derek look just as surprised as Stiles that Boyd is in the room. That’s when Stiles decides he’s had enough of not knowing who the hell these people are, and he trudges back into the room and points at Scott with a loaf of bread still in his hand.

“Who the hell is Blondie, and  _why_  is Boyd here?”  
  
Oddly enough, he gets his answer from Derek, not Scott.

“Erica,” Derek greets the blonde – Erica – with a nod, and greets the rest of them, “Boyd. Isaac. Allison. Scott,” he stops when he reaches the red head and the guy next to her, and he turns to Stiles, “I have no idea who they are,” then he shrugs and goes silent. 

Stiles wants to punch himself in the face, but he pushes through the urge and just turns to Scott, “I’m guessing  _you_ know all of them. I hope these random people haven’t just broken into our apartment for no good reason.”

“A barbecue would be a reason,” Derek mutters, and Stiles wills him to shut up.

“Erica is Isaac’s best friend, and Boyd is her boyfriend,” Scott marks their names off with his fingers, “Lydia is Allison’s partner, and Jackson is  _her_ boyfriend,” Stiles thinks he’s done, because that’s everyone but then Scott tacks on the end, “what bread did you get?”  
  
Stiles throws the loaf at Scott’s face.

 

**

 

 

 

An hour later, Stiles learns that barbecues and apartments (specifically his and Scott’s ‘this apartment is too small to even have a real couch’ apartment)  _really_  don’t gel. It’s Lydia who first questions where they will be eating the food.

“So, does this building have a terrace or courtyard or… something?” Stiles can very blatantly hear the ‘or anything’ that she leaves unspoken.

“Um,” Scott pulls his attention away from mooning over Allison for longer than a second, “No?”

Yeah, Stiles wouldn’t have been sure of his answer either if he was on the receiving end of the glare Lydia was currently sporting.

“Then where were you expecting us to eat?” Jackson asks from the same place he’s been since he arrived – Lydia’s side. Scott glances around their small living room, his mouth hanging open as if a better answer might present itself if he waits long enough.

Stiles decides to take pity on his best friend, “Here,” He directs his words at Lydia and Jackson, but he knows everyone else is listening intently. He uses the full expanse of his arms to gesture to the living room, trying to make it look more inviting. He nearly punches Derek in the face in the process so he lowers his arms back to his sides slowly. When he continues to speak, he can feel Derek’s stare on the side of his face.

“Here in this, uh… very comfortable, cosy and in no way tiny room. Unless you want to eat at our dining table, which is less like a table and more of a mountain of clothes right now.”

Stiles very decidedly chooses to ignore the soft breath of a laugh that comes from beside him. Maybe he should have punched Derek in the face when he had the chance. They all look over their shoulders to investigate the dining room table, and Stiles knows he’s won them over when their shoulders collectively slump in defeat.

“Come on guys, like Stiles said… it’ll be cosy.” Allison says and squeezes Scott’s knee, which only makes Scott grin stupidly.

It makes Stiles want to gag, “Yeah, cosy Allison. Not a freaking swingers party. Keep your hands to yourself at all times. Nobody wants to see you throw Scott down on the table and have your way with him.”

She keeps her hand where it is, and rolls her eyes at Stiles.

“Speak for yourself.” And holy shit, Stiles had forgotten that Erica and Boyd had taken up residence on the beanbag at the side of the room. He doesn’t even know where Isaac has wondered off to.

He points a very non-threatening finger at Erica, “No, not ‘speaks for myself’. I speak for everyone, because while Scott is my brother from another mother, there are some things I  _never_  want to see in this lifetime. So, executive decision made.”

Somehow, that doesn’t seem to dim to pure unadulterated delight in Erica’s eyes, “I like you, you’re feisty.”

“I- thank you? I like you too?” he stares at her for a moment while he takes a moment to process the situation, and after a few seconds he comes to the conclusion that he does kind of like her too, even if he has no idea why.

It’s in that moment that Isaac chooses to saunter back into the room from God knows where.

“I wouldn’t have picked you for such a huge Mets fan, Stilinski.”

Stiles chokes and splutters on air, because the only evidence of that is hanging up on the wall in his bedroom, “Were you in my room? You’ve been gone for at least twenty minutes! What were you doing in there?” Stiles mentally starts shifting through all the incriminating things Isaac could have found.

“Not only your room, Scott said he’d take me on a tour of the place… but he seemed kind of preoccupied-“

Yeah, sucking on Allison’s face and just general aura, “So you took yourself.”

Isaac nods, “So I took myself.”

“Oh my god, you’re a cop, I  _know_  you know what privacy means. Wow… okay, you all need to just sit here and I need to go and cook the food. I don’t want to come back and find your tongue down her throat,” He says to Scott, then thinks better of it and directs it at everyone as he leaves the room.

He’s not even that angry with Isaac invading his privacy, because there’s literally nothing interesting in his room. He might as well just call it a room with a mattress, because that’s the nicest thing there. He just needed to get out of the tiny (yes, tiny. Not cosy) that feels even tinier with so many people crammed inside it.

This apartment was designed for two people (barely), not  _eight._

It’s like a breath of fresh air when he gets into the kitchen, and that’s saying something because their kitchen is a piece of crap. He’s got one hand on a handle of a pan when Derek announces his presence by coming to stand beside him at the stove.

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” is what he opens with. Stiles spares him a sideways glance as he oils the pan.

“I know. I’m not even angry.”

“You kind of sound angry.”

Stiles shrugs and the second that he does he knows how petulant it seems, but whatever, “Okay, but I’m not? Like, at all. I just needed to get out of there.”

“Right, I believe you,” the way Derek says it makes it sounds like the exact opposite.

“Oh my god, I’m seriously not angry dude. I’m a lot of other things, like tired, a bit claustrophobic and hungry. Emphasis on the hungry, so y’know,” He jiggles the pan in his hand around to make his point.

Derek narrows his eyes and glances between Stiles and the pan. Stiles is sure he’s ten seconds away from a lecture when Derek just says, “Where’s your barbecue?”

Stiles bites down on the reply he had formulated for one of Derek’s stupid lectures, and lifts the pan up from the stove.

“Barbecue, meet Derek. Derek, barbecue.”

“You don’t even own a barbecue,” and wow Stiles has never felt so judged to not be the owner of a barbecue before.

“We don’t even have a terrace, dude. Where would the barbecue go?”

Derek stares at him like he’s an idiot and bites out, “This is a  _barbecue party._ The only other thing you need besides the meat is a  _barbecue_.”

“Yeah, well. We don’t have one. This is all Scott’s idea, and he called it a barbecue, so I’m sticking to it,” he shoves the pan back down onto the hot plate with a little more force than necessary, “Now do you want your pan seared chicken or beef first?”

Stiles knows Derek stands there with his mouth hanging open for exactly fifteen seconds because he counts every one, "What happened to my pork ribs?" 

Stiles remembers the bag of pork ribs he had purposely left at the back of the fridge, "I don't know - what happened to my paperwork?" 

“I don’t get you,” Derek mutters with a huff, as he reaches across to a retrieve a second pan to throw a piece of beef into.

Stiles shrugs as he flips over the chicken in his own pan, “You learn to love it.”

“…Right.”

Derek sounds so unsure about it, Stiles wants to cuff him across the head with his pan.

 

**

 

An hour later finds them all in the living room again. Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson squished against one another on the couch trying their hardest to eat their food without their plates slipping off their laps and onto the floor.

Erica, Boyd and Isaac are still occupying the beanbag and all three are struggling with their plates too. The only people seemingly having no problem with the plates is Derek and Stiles, who are residing on the floor – a nice solid surface not only for one’s body but also their flimsy paper plate.

Stiles scoffs down two plates of food before anyone else has even finished their first, and it surprises no one except Jackson who gives him a disgusted look. Stiles shoves his third beef burger into his mouth, and feels entirely uncomfortable with everyone here, but he can't quite put his finger on it, and if that isn't irritating he doesn't know what is.

Derek nudges him gently with his elbow, "You all good? You look a little..."

"What?" Stiles snaps, swallowing the remainder of his burger, "a little what?"

"Irritated." Derek huffs softly, taking a careful bit of his own burger.

All at once, Stiles feels fidgety and like he doesn't want to be in this cramped room any longer. Simultaneously, he wants nothing more than to not move and remain sidled up to Derek's side.

He pauses, burger in hand when that particular thought catches up to him, because  _oh._

"Well, I'm not. So eat your damn burger and shut up," he says, the words coming out a lot harsher than he intended.

 

**

 

They all leave at the same time a few hours later. Stiles is surprised Lydia and Jackson held out for so long since they spent most of their time eyeing the door. Allison and Derek are the only ones to hang back, aside from Scott and himself.

“You don’t have to stay and help clean or anything,” he tells Derek as they walk side by side into the kitchen with their plates.

“Wasn’t planning to, just thought it’d be polite to bring my own plate out. Besides, there’s not enough hours in the day to make this place clean.”

“If this is you being polite, you’re failing, Badly. Also, you don’t do polite. Stop being weird. Go back to being grumpy and rude.”

Derek shrugs off the comment and puts his dish into the trash bag, “I can’t think of a reason to be polite to a Mets supporter.”

 “…You like baseball?” is the first thing out of Stiles’ mouth, “Wait, I mean. Rude!”

They spend the next thirty minutes discussing how, no Derek the Mets are a thousand times better than the  _Dodgers_ , are you even kidding. Somehow they end up talking about baseball for an hour and in the end Stiles vehemently agrees to disagree with Derek and his dumb ass team. Derek just shrugs it off, and while placing one of the paper plates into the garbage, he asks, “Did you become a cop because of your dad?”

“What? Where did that come from?” Stiles throws the dish towel over his shoulder so he can turn and openly analyse Derek and his thought process. Derek is precise, Derek is suspicious and Derek doesn’t do small talk, with the newly found exception of baseball.

“I’m just making conversation, Stiles.”

“You don’t make conversations,” he says without thinking. It’s becoming a common occurrence for him. “It has nothing to do with you. Leave my dad out of it,” he bites out, "you've known me for how long and now you're suddenly taking an interest? What angle are you playing?"

As soon as he says it, he can tell it’s exactly the wrong thing to say. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have realised how relaxed Derek had been before he did, because he can practically  _feel_ Derek go tense.

“Derek-“

“Alright. Received loud and clear, Stilinski.”

Stiles loves his surname because of all the memories attached to it, but in that very moment, the use of it feels like a slap in the face.

"Sorry- look, I didn't mean to sound like an asshole, okay? I was just... caught off guard." 

Derek gives him an incredulous, pointed look, as he puts a bottle cap in the trash, "I didn't realise you put up such a big guard around me. We've talked about your dad before. I wasn't going for any 'angle'."

"Yeah, well," Stiles says flippantly, planning to wave off the rest of this conversation, but instead he takes a slow breath and focuses the entirety of his attention of jamming all the rubbish inside the too-small trash bag, "I don't know how this conversation happened, I really don't. If you took me into a court of law and put me on the stand, I could without a doubt plead I had no idea how this shit started. But now that it is happening... it's not that I have a 'guard' up around you. It's just- I thought this barbecue was going to be fun."

Stiles cringes inwardly at how ridiculous that sounds.

"I thought," he continues, "it was going to be a few people that I like to hang out with, that we'd drink beer, shoot the breeze, and eat some damn good meat, y'know? Instead I get a thousand people - yes, a  _thousand_ , shut up - crammed into this tiny apartment, I didn't even know who half of them were, and to be completely honest, I didn't really feel like getting to know anyone new. So I got.. grumpy. Stop making that face," he glances away from the trash expecting to see a smug little grin on Derek's face, amused by Stiles. What he gets is an uncomfortably concerned frown instead.

"Anyway," he clears his throat, zoning back in on the trash. Who knew trash could be so interesting, "I'm just in a bad mood, and I couldn't take it out on Scott because his of his stupid 'I'm so nice, I love everyone' attitude, so I took it out on you. I magnified a non-issue and I'm sorry, okay?"

This time when he glances at Derek the concerned frown is gone, replaced by Derek's trademark blank look. Ugh, he'd rather have the concerned frown back.

"Derek-"

He doesn't get much more than that out, because Derek talks over the top of him, "It's fine."

Stiles abandons his work on the trash to turn and really look at his partner, "Is that a 'I don't want to talk about this anymore but I'm still peeved fine' or an actual 'it's fine'?"

When Derek chuckles, Stiles can't deny that his heart soars. He didn't even know much he was craving a laugh from his partner.

"Relax, it's really fine. I didn't even know you had actual bad moods where you lash out, so it's fine... we both overreacted about nothing, and it's fine," Derek takes the trash bag from Stiles' hold, gripping it tightly as he tied a knot on the top, ensuring no stray trash would be left on the kitchen floor, "It was a genuine question, by the way."

Stiles frowns, not even pretending to have the energy to rewind over this whole conversation to work out what question Derek is talking about, "What?"

"About you becoming a cop because of your dad," Derek says softly, talking straight to the trash bag instead of Stiles.

Oh.

"It was, well- it was a bunch of stuff, but I guess it all started with my dad, yeah. If he had been, I don't know, a baker I probably would have shown interest in that."

Derek snorts, "You mean you could have  _more_  interest in baked goods than you already do? I had no idea."

"Shut up," he says, starting to feel like they were getting back into familiar, comfortable territory.

"No, please explain to me how that would possible."

Stiles laughs softly, shaking his head. The motion obviously does something to clear his mind, because he says, "It's not even a secret that I'm a cop because of my old man, so I'm more than a little mortified that I snapped at you about that specifically," he shrugs away the awkward feeling that sinks into the pit of his stomach.

Derek doesn't say anything for a long moment, and puts the trash bag to the side so he can wash his hands at the sink. Stiles doesn't know what else to say, so he just waits.

"What made you so upset?" Derek asks as he's drying his hands, "I know you explained it, but it seems like more. I haven't been on the beat as long as I have without learning a thing or two. What's going on? Scott said you were a bit on edge this morning too."

Stiles frowns, because nope there's not something else. He's already explained why he was in a bad mood and why he snapped. Derek obviously needs to be told again, as much as Stiles hates repeating embarrassing information about himself, "There's nothing going on. I don't know why Scott thought I was on edge this morning, because I was fine - a little tired, sure but otherwise - and like I said, I wanted this barbecue to be fun, for everyone and I know it seems really dumb to say it now but it was just over crowded and Isaac decided to be a snoop and go snooping where he wasn't invited, and I ended up cooking all the food for everyone and we just should have gotten pizza, okay? We don't even have a barbecue!" he blurts out, his voice growing in volume.

"I know I sound like a brat, but I wanted it to just be a small group of us because I wanted you and Scott to really get to know each other, okay? I didn't want to worry about feeding all these people with super model looks and have to explain why I go by Stiles and-"

Derek cuts him off with a soft, but firm, "Why did you want me to get to know Scott? I do know him. I know you think I'm incapable of conversation, but I've had a few with McCall at the station."

Stiles opens his mouth, then slams it shut when he realises what he was about to say.

_I wanted you to get to know him properly, because I like you and if you guys don't get along my life would be shit and I accidentally seem to have taken some of my insecurities out on you oops._

"Stiles?"

"That's- look, that's not what I meant. I don't know what I meant. Forget it."

Stiles takes two steps in his tiny kitchen to reach the sink, and wash his hands of all the dirty plates and bottles he's been touching, and hopes Derek will leave the conversation alone and forget it like he's asked. Stiles may or may not be having a slight panic attack on the inside because his mouth almost got ahead of his brain and said something that would tear this partnership apart. Derek's a good looking guy, Stiles has never denied it but that wasn't supposed to become developing  _feelings_  for his partner.

He never even wants to come close to the point of telling Derek that 'oh sorry I was all grumpy at that one barbecue but after a series of events I had a freaking epiphany and realised I was in a bad mood because I wanted a nice, comfortable day at home with you and Scott and a whole bunch of a snoopy random people I've never met before came and ruined it'.

Hell no.

Until about five seconds ago,  _Stiles_ hadn't even realised that's what he was feeling. So if Derek could just leave well enough alone, and not ask anymore questions, Stiles would be mighty appreciative.

Derek The Silent seems to be taking a vacation today, and Stiles has been left with Derek The Converser, so of course Derek opens his mouth as Stiles his drying his hands.

"You're a terrible liar, and your face is doing something weird. If you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

Stiles turns to Derek, "Cool. Sounds like an awesome idea. Let's- let's just move on," he feels his lips pull into a smile, even though it feels awkward as hell, claps Derek on the back and very slowly but surely gets the hell out of that room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter, it just wouldn't do what I wanted it to do. But I've re-written this so many times it's ridiculous so I thought it was about time to just post it.
> 
> It took me less than a year to post the next chapter to this story, so yay! Also, some actual development~ Who knew this story would have any...
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr @eamesly


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as the chapter Stiles spends the whole day on the phone.

The next day Stiles doesn’t have to go into work and he considers it a miracle, because two days off in a row? That’s the Holy Grail. Scott, however does have to go into work and even though Stiles was planning to sleep in until three in the afternoon, he makes the effort to get up and rub it in Scott’s face by waltzing around in his pyjamas, taking more time than anyone would ever need to eat his breakfast and then flopping down on the couch and switching on the Xbox.

Scott glares at him after he’s changed into his uniform; he shoves Stiles into the kitchen bench while he’s stuffing his face full of toast at lightning speed, and he turns off the Xbox just when Stiles is about to start a new level. Stiles knows he deserves it, but it doesn’t stop him throwing one of the couch cushions at Scott just as he’s walking out the door.

Once the apartment is empty, Stiles promptly realises that it is in fact 6:30 in the damn morning, it’s his second day off in a row and maybe getting up just to torment Scott wasn’t the smartest idea, because now he doesn’t have anything to do and he’s wide awake.

God damn it.

He allows his gaze to wander around the room, looking for something productive to occupy him for the rest of the day. It only takes him a few seconds to realise that there’s so many things he needs to do. The small mound of letters on the coffee table really means he should start paying some bills, the torn edge of the carpet that has been torn for more than six months means he should either fix it finally or call someone else to do it.

He does none of the above, of course. Instead he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contact list. He’s scrolling to dial his dad, but his finger pauses over ‘Derek Hale’, and he swallows heavily, remembering his not so glorious epiphany the day before. Stiles knows he can’t avoid talking to Derek for the rest of his life, and that he will more than likely be seeing him on shift tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean he can’t ignore the problem until then. So, he dials his dad.

It rings twice before his dad picks up.

_“It’s 6:30 in the morning, Stiles. This had better be important.”_

“You picked up on the second ring, dad. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t wake up and hour ago and that there isn’t a plate of bacon and egg in front of you right now.”

When his dad sighs, it just sounds like a tinny whistle through the speaker, _“It’s oatmeal, and what can I do for you this morning?”_

_“Oatmeal?_ You really are an old man now, and excuse you. Can’t an adoring son ring his beloved father on the weekend just to have a chat?”

_“Shut up, I’m told it has the nutrients my body needs so sometimes I indulge.”_ His dad says it like oatmeal equals chocolate or something equally as delicious in this equation, and Stiles makes a face at his phone, glad his dad can’t see it.

“You’ve been compromised by Melissa’s wily ways you old dog.” He grins, and is a little bit sad his dad can’t see his face this time.

_“And of course you can call to chat,”_ his dad says, unperturbed by Stiles, _“You’re my son, and I love you but I know what’s going on here.”_ Stiles can hear the mischief in his dad’s voice, _“You have a day off, and you have no idea what to do with yourself, huh?”_

As much as Stiles loves his dad, he really doesn’t appreciate the smug satisfaction radiating from his voice and he grumbles into the speaker to show just how much he appreciates it.

_“Scott must have a shift, and you’ve probably finished all your video games. You should go for a nice, leisurely, refreshing stroll through the city. You’re a cop now, you should know the city you’re patrolling.”_

His dad is right, if finishing a game means giving up on a boss level because it’s too freaking hard and if Stiles plays it again he might actually throw the controller through the TV screen.

“Alright, fine but I do have other things to do, I just… don’t want to.”

_“My adult son, everyone.”_

“Shut up, dad,” he says fondly, “But then also don’t shut up, and be prepared for me to visit you in like an hour.”

“ _No can do. Doris came down with a cold, so they asked me to run the bingo at the club today.”_

Bingo? Club? _Doris._

“Oh my god, I never want to retire. It sounds so _old.”_

His dad chuckles warmly, _“Funny that. Now I need to finish my breakfast.”_

“Yeah, of oatmeal. I got it. I’ll call you later, love you.”

_“Love you too, stay safe.”_

When he hangs up, he looks around the apartment, back to square one. He stares at the edge of the mound of mail on the table again, psyches himself up and promptly decides to tackle the problem after a nap.

 

 

**

 

A quick nap turns out to be seven hours, because when Stiles wakes up it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. He has no idea what woke him up until his phone vibrates against the sheets and blares at him; he scrabbles to pick it up without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?” he tries for natural and awake, but it only comes out as a croaky mess.

_“It’s Derek. Did you just wake up?”_

Stiles stomach does a little flip, and he clears his throat, sits up in bed and attempts to pat down the nest that he calls his hair as if Derek can see him.

“Nah, been up since six. By the way, I know it’s you before you say it, there’s this little thing called caller ID.” he lies, trying to sound casual and probably missing the mark by a long way. He takes a moment to think of reasons Derek would willingly call him. Of his own free will. _Willingly._

_“So you just woke up, got it.”_ Derek says, in the same smug tone his dad had earlier, making Stiles want to throw his phone across the room.

“You’ve ‘got’ nothing, Hale. Shut up.”

Derek goes very quiet on the other end of the line, and Stiles huffs.

“You’re the one paying for the call, I can wait all day. My pillow is _very_ comfortable.”

_“So you really did just wake up.”_

“Oh my god, what do you want? You never call me. Did something happen?”

The silence on the other end just feels a touch uncomfortable this time, but before Stiles begins rambling to cover it up, Derek breaks it.

_“I don’t know, did something happen?”_ Derek asks softly, Stiles would almost say it sounded gentle, _“You ran out of your own apartment yesterday, and it was weird. Well, weirder than usual for you.”_ Derek amends after a beat.

Stiles really can’t deal with this right now, and he really doesn’t want to be psychoanalysed by Derek either.

“Uh, yeah. I guess I did, uh, do that. The burgers didn’t agree with me, and I needed to… run it off,” he finished weakly, making a face at himself at how idiotic he sounds.

_“A run,”_ Derek repeats flatly, _“because the meat that everyone else ate and hasn’t gotten sick from, made you feel sick. Got it.”_

“Well when you say it like that,” Stiles huffs, staring at the hang-in-there-kitten poster hanging on his wall that Scott had given him as a joke for his birthday last year. Stiles wants to punch the condescending kitten in the face right now.

_“Stiles?”_

Stiles snaps back to reality with a sigh, “Yeah?”

_“Everything okay?”_

“Yeah, all good. Just contemplating if punching a kitten in the face would hurt my fist or the wall more.”

Derek releases a breath into the receiver, something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle which makes Stiles’ stomach do another little flip and he clenches his jaw.

“Were you calling for a reason, Derek?”

Stiles doesn’t realise how annoyed he sounds until Derek doesn’t reply straight away.

_“No,”_ Derek says after the pause, _“Not really, it seems. Just. No, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late,”_ and he hangs up.

Stiles stares at the screen for a few moments, before he throws it down beside him on the bed and rolls over.

 

**

 

By the time it’s dark out, Stiles has had more than enough of lying in bed, so he takes himself from the uncomfortable surface of his bed, to the equally as uncomfortable surface that is the couch and turns the television on. The first thing that comes on is a documentary series that follows cops around on duty. Stiles rolls his eyes and flicks to the next channel, landing on Big Brother, the millionth season. He decides what the hell, he’d much rather watch and judge random strangers on the television than concentrate on the issue bothering him.

As always, his phone ringing interrupts those particular plans. He expects it to be Finstock, asking him to cover a shift or that there’s a national emergency and they need all hands on deck. It’s neither, because the name that flashes on the screen is his dad’s.

_“Hey son,”_ his dad greets him when he picks up on the fifth ring.

“Hey pops, what’s up? Bingo over already?”

His dad chuckles warmly, _“Even old timers like us can’t do bingo into the dead of night.”_

“Sure, don’t sell yourself short,” he says, getting distracted by two women getting into a physical altercation in the big brother house, “What?” he asks when he realises his dad had continued talking.

_“I asked if you were okay, you sound a little down.”_

Sometimes, Stiles wishes his old man didn’t know him as well as he did, “I’m okay. Just thinking. You know how it is.”

_“I do.”_ his dad says slowly, as if sounding out the words.

Stiles picks at the arm of the couch with his fingernail where it’s got a tiny rip, “Really, Dad. I’m okay.”

_“Now I know you’re not, Stiles. You only reassure me like that when it’s the exact opposite and you don’t want to tell me because you think it will upset me.”_

Stiles barely parts his lips to reply before his dad continues, _“I’m the parent. You let me decide if it will upset me or not. Are you… in trouble?”_

“What? No, of course not!”

_“Stiles.”_

“I’m not in trouble, dad. Well- no, it’s not legal trouble or anything,” Stiles says, and then wishes he could take back that last part.

_“So what kind of trouble is it?”_ his dad, because of course he pounces on that piece of information.

Stiles sighs, “Look, it’s not… anything to worry about. I just need to think about some things and work out what I’m going to do. Okay?”

_“Stiles,”_ he can practically hear the frown in his dad’s voice, _“You know you can tell me anything._  

“Yeah, I know,” he says, because he does know. He knows his dad would do anything for him, “It’s personal.”

Stiles cringes because there’s nothing personal when it comes to his dad. But still, he doesn't even want to contemplating saying ' _Hey, dad. Yeah, I'm great. I just figured out I maybe have more than platonic feelings about my partner, but that's cool. Because what could go wrong right, dad?_

“I haven’t even talked to Scott about it yet." he goes with instead, "It’s nothing, dad. Scout’s honor.”

_“You were never a scout, and you’re doing a damn awful at making it sound like ‘nothing’, son.”_

“But I _could_ have been a scout, so it still counts.”

_“Okay, Stiles. I’ll leave it- for now. Just tell me one thing.”_

“Okay…” he swallows.

_“You didn’t rob a bank, did you?”_

Stiles frowns, ready to indignantly defend himself, when his dad adds, _“Because you know I could use the extra dough.”_ Stiles releases a relieved sigh before he chuckles warmly into the mouthpiece, “Tough luck, old man. You had your chance when you were on the force and you didn’t take it. It’s my time to shine now. I would make a pretty great bank robber.”

_“You didn’t answer my question, Stiles,”_ his dad sounds serious but Stiles knows he’s playing along.

“Didn’t I?” Stiles asks innocently, “How terrible of me,” he pauses, a small smile still on his face, “’night dad.”

_“’night, son. Stay safe.”_

“You too.”

 Stiles puts his phone down on his thigh, and lazily watches it slide from its perch onto the couch beside him before he turns his full attention back to Big Brother: Season Infinite. Some red head called Cassie cuts up a banana in the kitchen, walks out to the pool area to retrieve her sunglasses and join in on the daily gossip. It takes Stiles exactly the same amount of time as Cassie walking from the gossip session to the bathroom area to remember he has a big problem called Derek that he won’t be able to avoid tomorrow. Suddenly, Cassie brushing her teeth becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Derek probably brushes his teeth five time a day, there’s no way they’re that white or straight from twice a day brushing. Stiles pauses because _ugh._ Even watching Big Brother makes him think of Derek.

Great, he's screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a million years since I've updated this, but here is the next chapter finally.
> 
> I promise I'm going to finish this fic, but in the meantime, have some angst :D

Stiles had always had a love-hate relationship with his alarm. It loved to torture his very soul by waking him up so goddamn early, and he hated the machine to the very core of his being. Weirdly, it’s not his alarm waking him up at – he glances at the blaring numbers as he somehow manages to roll over – 3:30 in the freaking morning. That’s a whole two hours before he was planning to even think about waking up and trudging into the precinct. No, the thing that wakes him up is his ring tone, and as much as loves listening to ‘Sandstorm’ by Darude every single day of his life, he did not want to wake up right now. He groans, entirely aggrieved by the whole situation and snatches his phone from beside him and slamming his thumb down on ‘answer’.

“What?” Stiles barks down the line, without bothering to check who he’s yelling at.

" _You need to get down to Saint Mary’s. Right now,”_ an all too familiar voice responds.

“Derek?” Stiles blinks into the darkness, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, “What the hell? It’s 3 o’clock in the morning! Couldn’t this wait until we see each other in oh, I don’t know, literally a few hours. Wait, what did you say?”

_“Stiles, listen to me and don’t freak out-“_

“Said no one who actually ever stopped someone from freaking out,” Stiles mutters into the receiver, his brain wide awake now. Derek sounded… tense. He started piecing together the words Derek had already spoken that he wasn’t awake enough to compute. Saint Mary’s, that was a…

“Derek,” Stiles said, slowly sitting up. “What happened? Why the hell do I need to go to a hospital at 3 o’clock in the morning?” he asked, not entirely sure he actually wanted the answer.

“It’s your dad.”

Oh god.

Stiles’ stomach dropped, while he suddenly couldn’t think of a single word to say. It suddenly felt like his body was burning hot while simultaneously being freezing cold.

“-iles? Stiles?” Derek’s voice pulled Stiles back to reality, and it was only when he released a long breath that he realised he hadn’t been breathing.

When he spoke, he could only manage a barely audible whisper, “Derek, what-… what’s happened to my dad?” he asked, not sure he really wanted an answer. He had never been more thankful for Derek’s supersonic hearing than at that moment, when he knew he wouldn’t have to repeat the question, as Derek’s voice came through the receiver.

“I told you not to freak out. Your dad was in an accident, he’s breathing but it’s- I was first on the scene. Just get down here, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He hangs up on Derek without saying goodbye and throws himself out of bed, somehow managing to pull a mix’n’match of clothes on as he rushes from the room. Picking up his car keys on his way to the front door, he also manages to slip into a jacket. Why couldn’t his body move any quicker? He needed to be with his dad, not in one hour's time, but right this second. His head and his heart was pounding as he wrenched open the front door, took one step then stopped. Stiles clenched his fist against his chest and took a shaky breath. He couldn’t drive like this. He’d probably have an accident of his own and hurt an innocent bystander.

Shit.

Was Scott even home?

He made the split second decision to turn on his heel and head back into his place, throwing open Scott’s bedroom door, switching the lights on and stomping in.

“Stiles what the hell!” Scott bolted upright, a deep frown creasing his tired face before it grew deeper as he checked the time. “Seriously dude-“

Stiles opened his mouth to explain the whole situation, but only three words escaped in a breathless rush, “Dad. Derek. Hospital.”

Scott seemed to at least get part of the message, as his eyes widened and he too rushed to remove himself from the confines of his bed sheets.

 

 

**

 

The whole drive to St Mary’s, Stiles felt like he was in between. In between reality and fiction. In between dreaming and being awake. Scott was talking to him the whole way, but if asked, Stiles wouldn’t be able to repeat a single word. Scott dropped him at the door, promising to come find him once he found a park, leaving Stiles to enter the sliding doors by himself. Every step he took towards the admissions desk, the more he wanted to turn around and run. What if his dad wasn’t okay? Was Melissa in the car with him too? Was Scott going to be okay? _What was he going to do if his dad wasn’t alright?_ By the time he reached the desk, only a numb feeling had settled within him.

“Hi sweetheart, what can I do for you?” the sweet, older nurse at the desk asked him with a warm smile.

“Hi,” Stiles replied, sounding a hell of a lot more normal than he actually felt, “I think my dad was brought here. Last name Stilinski. Could you please tell me where I can find him?”

Before she could answer him, they were interrupted by a sharp call from the adjacent corridor.

“Stiles!”

Derek.

Stiles quietly apologised to the nurse, excusing himself so he could take the steps to reach his partner. Derek was in uniform, but he looked more dishevelled than usual.

“Stiles,” Derek repeated, softer this time, “this way.”

Without a word of warning, Derek takes hold of Stiles forearm and pulls him forward with enough force to make Stiles stumble. He leads him down the corridor towards two large doors that Derek pushes open easily with his spare hand. Waiting for them on the other side of the doors is Melissa, arms folded as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. Before Stiles gets the chance to throw his arms around her and hold her tight, an older man in green scrubs enters the waiting room. As Melissa made the quick steps to reach the doctor, it was obvious she had already met him. Hell, as a nurse herself, maybe she had even worked with the guy. Derek gently tugs on Stiles' arm again, leading him to stand beside Melissa as the doctor continues to speak.

“-his leg. As I said before, the impact to his head has caused some swelling, but we’ve stabilised him as best we can at this point in time.”

“Is he breathing on his own, Steve?” Melissa interrupted the doctor – Steve, apparently.

“Not at the moment, no. But after the surgery, we’re now relatively hopeful that the swelling will reside in a couple of days.”  
  
Stiles stared at the doctor. _Relatively hopeful?_ If that was supposed to comfort him, then Steve was dead wrong. Objectively, Stiles knew doctors were trained not to make promises, but that thought wasn’t enough for him right now.

“Can I see him?” Stiles asks, finding his voice again.

Steve looks between the three of them, and nods, “But he needs his rest, so keep it short.”

Stiles doesn’t move for a moment, mentally trying to prepare himself for what he might see on the other side of the door. He feels something gently squeeze his forearm, and he realises Derek hasn’t let go. Stiles glances down at the hand on his arm and shift his gaze up to Derek, half expecting his partner to say something. When he doesn’t, Stiles is secretly glad because right now he doesn’t know what to say about anything. He feels like he’s ready to open the door though, so he slowly pushes it open and is introduced to a crisp white room, full of equipment surrounding a single bed in the middle of the room.

Looking past all the tubes, Stiles vaguely wonders if his dad has always been so pale. He sucks in a sharp breath, taken aback by the sight of his usual lively father, looking sullen and still. Stiles feels Derek’s hand finally disconnect from his arm, only to drop lower and slip between his loose fingers, holding tightly. If this was any other day, Stiles would wonder what the actual hell, but right now he doesn’t want Derek to ever let go. They stand at the door of his dad’s hospital room, hand-in-hand for a fleeting moment, which feels like an hour. Eventually, it’s Stiles that squeezes Derek’s hand before he slowly extricates his hand.

“I need some time with dad,” he says softly, not able to tear his eyes away from his dad’s prone form.

Derek puts the same hand Stiles had just been holding onto Stiles’ shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze before gently pushing him to take that extra step into the room.

“I’ll be right outside,” and he closes the door behind him as he leaves.

Stiles takes small steps to reach his dad, running his fingertips along the edge of the bed until he reaches his dad’s hand, “Hey dad,” he chokes out the last word, “Didn’t we promise to stay safe, what the hell old man. This is the exact opposite of that.”

Stiles uses the full length of his reach to retrieve the chair against the wall, pulling it to him without letting go of his dad’s hand, “You better wake up,” he scolds, as he drops down into the chair, “I haven’t heard the riveting story about your time as a bingo master yet. Okay? So, any time you want to open your eyes is fine with me. Just, you know, don’t take too long, okay?”

For a moment, Stiles wishes this was a movie and his voice was enough to make his dad open his eyes.

For a moment, for the first time, Stiles wishes he had become a doctor instead of a cop so he could fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't beta'ed so apologies for any mistakes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look, an update that took less than a year - it's a miracle!
> 
> Sorry it's so short.

If Stiles had his way, he would have spent every waking moment sitting next to his dad. Unfortunately, the hospital staff had different ideas and he ended up slumped on a lumpy couch in an eerily quiet room at 6 o’clock in the morning, with Scott and Melissa sleeping against him, and Derek beside the vending machine, resting against the wall with his eyes shut. He’s still in uniform, but his hair looks flatter, his shirt in untucked and the top buttons of his collar are loose, letting the edge of his chest hair see the light of day.

“You should head back out on patrol,” Stiles says, breaking the silence, his voice sounding even louder after such a long silence. Even if Derek knew him and his father, he would get disciplined for hanging around too long.

“My shift ended at 3am,” Derek says, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Stiles is quiet again for a moment, doing the math in his head. If that was the case, that means Derek had stayed at the hospital of his own accord this whole time, “Oh,” Stiles manages, “okay.”

“Okay,” Derek agrees, and the room falls back into silence again. Stiles is beginning to not be overly fond of the silence, so he speaks up only a few moments later.

“Then, you should go home and sleep okay?”

“Okay,” Derek once again agrees, but makes no move to actually leave.

“You know you’re not moving, right?”

Derek doesn’t reply, but Stiles knows he heard him. Sighing, he taps his index finger against his jean-covered thigh until he gets tired of hearing his own fingertip against the fabric.

“Derek, go home and sleep,” he tries again, attempting to sound more forceful. It seems to work, as Derek pushes off the wall with his eyes open and heads for the door.

“You’re leaving?” Stiles questions, not meaning for the words to tumble out so quickly. Derek pauses with his hand on the door handle, and looks back at his partner.

“No. I’m getting coffee. Want one?”

“Uh, sure,” Stiles nods, and then backtracks. “Wait, no. I just told you to go home and sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek agrees once again, but as he leaves the room, Stiles knows he wasn’t agreeing at all.

 

**

 

In the time it takes for Derek to return with four paper cups full of black sludge masquerading as coffee, Melissa and Scott have woken up. They each take their own offered cup of sludge, and down the scalding hot liquid as best they can, wanting the hit of caffeine as quickly as possible.

As Derek is taking up residence against his spot next to the vending machine, Stiles nearly throws his coffee all over himself when he jolts upright and immediately moves to stand on his own two feet, “Shit!”

“What is it?” Scott asks, moving to stand up, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m on shift today! I forgot to call Finstock. Oh my god, he’s going to kill me!”

Just as Stiles started fumbling around in his pockets trying to locate his phone, Derek chose to speak up for the first time since re-entering the room, “I already called him. You’re on temporary permitted leave.”

Stiles slumped and fell back into the discomfort of the lumpy couch cushion, “Thank god. How long is my leave for?”

“It’s-… as long as you need,” his partner answers, and it’s obvious he had been choosing his words carefully. Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously, while Derek averts his minutely.

“It’s probably for the best dude,” Scott interrupts, “This way you can stay here and take care of your dad, and the rest of us can investigate the accident.”

Stiles quietly scoffs at the idea that him staying in the hospital even constitutes him taking care of his dad, but it’s the last part he really gets stuck on. It was standard procedure to investigate all motor vehicle accidents, of course, but Derek being choice with his words, and Scott trying to placate the situation, makes Stiles suspicious, “Is there anything suspicious about the accident?” Melissa sits up straighter on the couch, obviously equally as interested in the answer.

“When I first arrived on the scene,” Derek starts slowly, “it was initially agreed that it had been a one-car accident, but upon further investigation-“

“There was another car,” Stiles cuts in, speaking more to himself, “Who?”

“We don’t know yet,” Scott answers instead of Derek, who chooses to speak a moment later, “Finstock will send over some detectives later today to ask you and Melissa a few questions.”

 Stiles doesn’t even have to look at Melissa to know she’s wearing the same frown as him.

“There was another car,” Stiles repeats again, mulling that over for a few drawn out moments, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Scott asks at the same time Derek asks with the a suspicious glare, “Okay what?”

Stiles places his cup of coffee off to the side and stands, straightening out the wrinkles of his clothes, “Okay, you can thank Finstock for his rare kindness, but I won’t be needing any leave. I have work to do.”

 

 

**

 

 

Stiles is halfway to the parking lot when he hears footsteps beating against the pavement behind him. Knowing exactly who it is, he spins on his heel, argument on the tip of his tongue. “Scott, don’t try to stop me. What wo— Derek,” Stiles stares at definitely-not-Scott, and Derek glares back at him, “I thought you were Scott.”

“I figured,” Derek rests his arm atop the buckle on his belt containing his taser.

“Well, if you’re here to stop me then I can say exactly what I was going to say to Scott.”

“You’re being stupid,” Derek says, like it’s common knowledge.

“ _Excuse me_? I’m a goddamn cop, and you just told me there was another car in the accident that put my dad in hospital fighting for his life. And what? You want me to just sit still and do nothing? Not even find the son of a bitch who did this? What if it was your fam—“

“I’m not here to stop you,” Derek shifts his weight to his other side, patiently waiting for Stiles to calm down, “If it was my family, I’d be doing the exact same thing.”

“Then… what the hell, Derek?” Stiles frowns, throwing his hands in the air.

“You’re being stupid,” Derek continues, “because you’re running out of here after a high-stress incident,” Holding up a hand, Derek counts with his fingers, “you haven’t had enough sleep, and Scott drove you here, so you’ll be waiting another half hour for the next bus.”

Stiles initially takes offense at being called stupid again, but gradually calms down as he listened to the rest, which, yeah made sense. “Are you worried about me, Hale?”

Derek rolls his eyes and moves to continue along the footpath, taking the lead ahead of Stiles, “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Stiles follows behind his partner, until he catches up and falls into step beside Derek, “Where are we going?”

“My place,” is the short reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again un-beta'ed, so apologies for any obvious mistakes. <3


End file.
